


In So Many Words We Cannot Say: Cherries So Sweet

by ADM



Series: In So Many Words We Cannot Say: Duology [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Male Homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-01-07 03:02:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADM/pseuds/ADM
Summary: It's the 1920s. Dressed in suit and tie, Dean expects to find a nice girl to dance with and have a good time, swinging her around in his arms to the flowing jazz, his hand on the small of her back, sure-footed and wearing a grin that oozed clean-cut confidence.Instead, he met his match. Messy dark hair and vibrant blue eyes, rumpled white button down, a tie dark against it. A wicked grin. It seemed as if he kept trying to piss Dean off--running into him, making Dean catch the girl he'd been dancing with, flirting with him at the bar. All he did with that stupid grin.Over four years, Dean and Castiel create an everlasting relationship despite all of the elements fighting against their love. But nothing is stronger than love, and they both know that.But is anything stronger than being torn away from each other?





	1. 1924

**Author's Note:**

> -In the 1920s, homosexuality was more accepted in urbanized places. New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, places like that. In the south in a small town, not so much. In the 30s, it became Conservative America again.  
> -Conversion therapy only started to be a huge thing in the late 20s, early 30s. It existed, but was not an epidemic until that point. That's why it is not mentioned too much until the second book of this series.  
> -The 20s, possibly a little earlier, was about the time where a large amount of people really started to voice their opinions on the illegalization of homosexuality.  
> -All of my summaries suck. They have to be long to be good, and I'm not good at brief summaries.  
> -This book is also published on my Wattpad account. if you may have seen it before, that is why. This is the edited version.

_August 21, 1928_   
_Lawrenceville, Georgia_   
_Corner of West and Fifth, Apartment #13_   
_Dean Winchester_

_Dear Bitch,_

_Sam, I wish you could've officially met him._

**June 14, 1924**

The air around Dean was warm and humid, but he didn't care. He just shed his suit jacket and put it over a chair at a table in the corner. He was at a dim backroom hole-in-the-wall, music not too overly loud. He held a girl between his arms, one hand on the small of her back, his fingertips digging into the white lace, and his other hand holding hers, guiding her, their fingers neatly folded together. They were swaying and twisting, moving to the smooth spill of jazz in the room around them, the woman's voice from up on the stage perfect parts smooth and scratchy, deep and loud, but somehow light and soothing and calm. She projected her voice across the room, a large microphone in front of her. Trumpet and saxophone, bass guitar and a steady drum beat emphasized her voice, careful to not play over her.

"So, what do you do, sir?" the woman he was dancing with asked, smiling up at him.

"I work as a chef at my friend's place."

"These strong arms help with the job, I suppose? Lifting and stirring..."

A corner of his mouth turned up, slightly perplexed. He knew what she wanted, so he might as well just play along. "I guess. You're a dancer, right? A real Oliver Twist?"

"It's a nice way to spend the time. Keeps me active. Along with other things."

"Hm. What other things?" He ran his fingertips over the small of her back, ghosting over her spine.

"Well, I can show you," she hummed and ran her hand that was on his shoulder down his arm, squeezing just above his elbow, her fingertips curling into his long sleeves. She moved her face closer to his, pressing her red lips lightly to his chin.

The music turned slow, the sound of the saxophone almost depressing. He hung his head down, pressing his temple to hers, swinging them both side to side, his feet sure on the floor beneath them. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, swaying back and forth almost dramatically, hand in hand and arm around her.

Something hard and solid hit his back and he stumbled forward, holding the girl he was dancing with against his chest so she wouldn't fall. He straightened, quickly made sure the girl was steady, and turned around. A man with a messy tangle of dark hair--he couldn't tell if it was black or dark brown--gave him a wink, the corner of his mouth pulling up in some kind of open one-sided smirk.

He didn't get a chance to say anything ( _watch where you're going, asshole_ ) before the man--who had blue eyes as bright as the stars and was wearing a waistcoat as dark as coal over a white long-sleeved button-down that was ruffled and wrinkled, the sleeves pushed up with what seemed to be impatience, and black slacks that seemed to be miraculously clear of lint--disappeared into the crowd, sliding between two people without touching either of them.

He turned back to the girl he'd been dancing with. She looked at him with wide brown eyes. He asked her, "Do you know who that was?"

She shook her head, her curled and pinned hair swaying around the nape of her neck a little. "I've seen him around before."

"Seems like an ass."

"Sir, you know you can't just throw those kind of words around to just anyone!" she exclaimed, but she put one of her hands in his, her other on his broad shoulder. He placed his free hand on her waist and they waltzed.

For the rest of the night, it was like there was this weight on him. His stomach churned almost painfully, the stare of someone's eyes on his back burning into him. After a few more long songs, he told the girl he was going to get a drink, to cool off and to try to relax. She smiled and nodded before walking away, almost immediately being swung into another dance, her skirt billowing around her, her heels raising off the floor, as she was spun. Dean carefully made his way to the bar, slipping between and past people who were high on the feeling of flying--dancing could do that to you. The smell of sweat and getting caught up in the smooth jazz, narrowly avoiding colliding into pairs of people, smoke of some mystery curling around in the air above their heads.

He stopped in front of the bar, setting an elbow on it. He raised his hand, his pointer finger and thumb up, his middle finger slightly bent, his ring and pinky against his palm. He got the attention of the barkeeper. "An Old Fashioned, please?" he asked, slightly raising his voice above the music.

"Good taste, green eyes," a deep voice said beside him. "I hope you'd taste just as good."

Dean narrowed his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at him. It was the man who had ran into him, with the stark blue eyes and unruly dark hair. Up close, Dean could see every shock of color that made the iris so vibrant and bright. He saw light and dark blues, black and white from shadows and highlights, electric blue shocks. He had a stupid smirk on his lips, a corner of his mouth smugly curled upwards. Dean looked away again, putting the tip of his tongue between his teeth for a few seconds before looking back at him. "I feel like that's inappropriate," he murmured.

"How so?" he smirked, leaning a little closer.

Dean swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and back down. He pushed his thoughts away ( _he's fucking handsome, flirt back_ ) as he said, "Considering the fact that we're two men and you're flirting with me."

"Flirting is supposed to be subtle; I'm not trying to be subtle, so, therefore, I am not flirting," he said, raising the rim of his glass to his lips. Dean watched as he set it on his bottom lip and tipped the glass up, smooth golden--bootlegged--alcohol spilling into the small part between his plush pink lips. The red cherry hit his upper lip and he opened his mouth, letting the cherry slip in, and fastened his teeth right on the bottom of the stem. He took the glass from his mouth, setting it on the bar in front of him. He said around the stem, "Don't be such a bluenose."

"You could get us both arrested," Dean said in a low voice. As he said this, he realized how much hypocrisy was in his words--they were both in an illegal backroom bar, both drinking bootlegged alcohol. Even then. The man let the cherry stem slip into his mouth. He didn't reply, though his mouth was moving slightly, his lips closed. Dean looked away as his drink was set in front of him. He thanked the bartender and took his glass in his hand. He raised it to his lips, taking a sip from it, the orange rind and the ice bumping into his lip. The cherry was pinned between the small block of ice in the glass and the side of the crystal, the long red stem sticking up. When he looked back at the man, he saw a red loop on his tongue that he had slightly stuck out of his mouth.

The man raised his hand, taking the red loop off his tongue. He held it up to inspect it, and Dean realized what had been done. The room suddenly felt boiling hot ( _more than it already had been_ ), sucking the oxygen from Dean's lungs and making him weak at the knees. The man smirked. He murmured, softly, not taking his eyes away from Dean's, "Do you want your cherry?"

Dean was confused for a second before he remembered there was a cherry in his glass. He pulled the cherry out by grabbing the stem between his thumb and pointer. He bit the fruit off the stem with his front teeth, chewed it a little, and swallowed. He put the stem on his tongue and closed his lips together, moving the stem around in his mouth a little to make it more malleable. After a few seconds, he pressed the stem up after placing it right on his tongue, curving it. He moved the stem with his tongue so the curve was between his front teeth, his lips still closed, the ends crossing. He used the tip of his tongue to curl one of the ends back into the loop. He used his teeth to tighten it before letting it lay on his tongue. He stuck his tongue out a little, showing the knot.

The man smirked. "You could really put that mouth to better use," he murmured.

Dean took the twisted stem off his tongue, holding it in a closed fist. "Oh, really?" Dean asked, lightly, meeting the man with his own words. "How so?" He took another drink from his glass, playing oblivious.

"Now that'd be inappropriate for _anyone_ to talk about in a setting like this." His smirk widened.

Dean pushed himself away from the bar, straightening his spine. "How about we both put ourselves to better use and you meet me at the corner of West and Fifth in an hour?"

He blinked once in slight surprise before pulling on an aggravating smolder, taking another sip from his glass. "West and Fifth," he agreed.

Dean turned, running his finger over the man's jaw, sliding back into the crowd, leaving his drink at the bar. He made his way to the table where he had laid his jacket. He pulled it off the back of a chair, folded it over his forearm, and walked out of the dance hall. He heard the jazz even from outside, echoing into the dark night.

He opened his closed fist, inspecting the knotted cherry stem in the yellow light casting down from a street light, not believing what he'd just done.

\----

"Sh sh sh," he said breathlessly, his mouth open and slack against Dean's jaw. His hands were curled into Dean's jacket so tight that his knuckles were white. "We don't want to be caught."

Dean didn't know how he ended up here--gasping, pinned against a wall of his apartment, the man from a little more than an hour ago at the bar kissing and sucking at his throat. The man smoothed his hands down Dean's chest and stomach, gripping Dean's hips.

"It's not my fault you're--"

"What, you don't want me to? You want me to stop?"

"Good God, please don't stop," Dean begged, tightening his hands on the man's shoulders, pushing his fingertips into his jacket. He pulled his face up to his, seeing the glint of his eyes, kissing him hard. The kiss was sloppy, all teeth and tongue and heavy breaths, but it took Dean's breath away. He's been kissed before, he's kissed others before, but this kiss was in its own category. It was out of this world, made Dean forget everything around him--the only grounding being this man against him, touching him, devouring him.

~~~***~~~

_His smile lit up the whole room. If he had just asked for it, he could've gotten anything he wanted. He even got things he didn't ask for...like me. He didn't ask for me. It was one night. He didn't ask for me to fall in love with him, or for him to fall in love with me, or anything. He didn't ask for me to ruin his life. He...He let it happen, though. He didn't care about the consequences of our actions. He just pushed me away and told me to run._

**June 15, 1924**

Dean grumbled deep in his throat when he woke up, blinking at the bright sunlight seeping through his window. He felt a strong, sturdy body beside him, their head tucked under his jaw, their arm splayed over Dean's chest. Dean smirked, the tip of his tongue between his front teeth, and poked the man's cheek. The man groaned, pushing his face into the crook of Dean's shoulder.

Dean chuckled. "Got anywhere to go today?"

He groaned again, a deep rumble in his throat that vibrated against Dean's shoulder. "I don't work early today."

"You usually work Sundays?"

"Gotta get coffee and pastries made for the post-church crowd. I work at a coffeehouse. I managed to get the day off until two thirty."

"You've been holding out on me."

"I just met you."

"Yet we're naked. In bed."

He laughed, lifting himself up. He moved so he was hovering over him--knees on either side of Dean's hips, hands on either side of Dean's head. He bent his head down, whispering in his ear, "I'm sure we went through this last night, but what's your name?"

"Dean," he said, craning his neck up a little, his lips soon pressed below the man's ear.

"I'm Castiel, and I don't know if I'll ever see you again after today."

Dean was silent for a few seconds. "...Does that mean you don't want to see me, or...?"

"Would you be offended if I didn't?"

He shrugged.

"I do want to see you again. Moaning underneath me, back arching..."

Dean flipped them over, pinning Castiel beneath him, hands on his wrists. He smirked. "I'd say the same thing about you, but I haven't had the chance to see that yet." Castiel lifted his head, bringing his lips to Dean's in a soft but hungry kiss. Dean leaned down a little, tilting his head to the side, deepening the kiss.

It was like Dean was holding his breath. He was waiting for someone to just barge in and report them. He was waiting for Castiel to say he had to go and he would never come back--it was one night. They were nothing to each other, just a little bit of fun for a night. ( _And for the morning after, it seemed._ )

Dean bit down on the crook of Castiel's neck. A soft whimper escaped the dark haired man's mouth, back arching, nails digging into the skin laid over Dean's shoulder blades.

Hours later, Dean looked over his shoulders in his bathroom mirror at the marks Castiel left on him. They were tiny crescent moons indented into his skin, and Dean cherished them for some odd reason. He sighed, walking out of the bathroom and around the wall to his living space. He took his button-down shirt from the back of one of the chairs, sliding it over his shoulders, pushing and folding the buttons together, leaving the top two undone. He smoothed the shirt out with his hands and grabbed one of the only waistcoats he owned before running out the door. Once out of the building, he walked down the street at a fast pace--buttoning the ash-gray waistcoat and fixing his collar--towards the coffeehouse a few blocks away. The air around him seemed brittle and stale, smelling like metal and old smoke. His little brother was sitting at a table outside, his long legs splayed out uncomfortably under the table. Dean couldn't help but laugh lightly at his brother's expense. "Too small for ya, buddy?"

"Definitely," Sam grumbled, sipping at a coffee, wild waves of steam uncurling off the surface of the dark brown drink.

"I'll be back. I really want a slice of pie," he said eagerly before walking into the café. He walked up to the counter, which no one was manning.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity spent of Dean leaning his hip against the counter, someone with dark hair slid out of the back kitchen, hurriedly, almost stumbling into the counter. Dean's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze was met with shocking blue eyes that stared at him in silence for a few seconds before asking, "What can I get you, Dean?"

Dean thought for a few seconds. He hadn't been sure, besides the fact he wanted pie. He usually got the same thing, but he wanted something different. "Surprise me, Cas. And pie. Any pie."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, Cas."

He rolled his eyes. "Give me a few minutes."

"I'll just stay here and bother you. I've never seen you here before."

"I've seen you," he said, flatly, pouring coffee from a brew into a teal, ceramic mug. "Proves how much you pay attention--I own the establishment and work every Sunday."

"Really? Nice--making coffee and pastries for a living sounds cool."

"What do you do, Dean? Or, are you a dewdropper?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm deeply offended. No, I work at my friends' diner. I'm one of the chefs."

"How butch of you, for a bimbo."

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl, leaning forward over the counter slightly.

"What? You and I are the only ones here besides one employee in the kitchen and a few old women with hearing problems sitting across the room. Besides, it's true."

"I'm not a bimbo."

"Last night says otherwise."

"Cas--" he started, setting a cold glare on him.

"Would you prefer cake-eater? Faggot? Macho? Fairy? Poofter, even? I know that one's Australian, but still, if you prefer it. Gym Bunny? Friend of Dorothy? Pillow Biter suits you really well."

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt the harsh flush of anger on his skin, pressing on his cheeks and climbing up his throat, making it almost painfully tight.

"Here's your pie and coffee. Dark brew, milk, and that special surprise you wanted." He winked. Dean grumbled out a thanks, taking the two items and heading back outside. He'd get Sam to bring the mug and plate back in for him.

"You look like someone pissed in your whiskey," Sam noted as Dean sat down.

"Nah, the owner just...pissed me off."

"What happened?"

"So, how's Mads doing?" he asked, picking up his fork.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he went along with Dean steering the topic away. "Maddie is good. She's been very irritable lately, but it's all in the package, I guess. She feels bad about it."

"Aw, but she's so sweet, she can't be that bad."

"No, uh, she's turned into the devil," he said, seriously.

Dean laughed. "Dang, kid, I feel bad for ya now."

"Well, she's pregnant--I can try to understand it the best I can."

"With science to help you," Dean added, helpfully.

"Obviously. What coffee did you get?" he asked.

"I told him to surprise me," he said. He picked up the mug by the handle and lifted it to his lips, taking a sip. Something cold and frozen bumped into his lip. He immediately pulled it away, swallowing the cold, slightly-off coffee.

"What is it?" Sam asked, leaning forward in interest.

Sticking his fork into the coffee, Dean said, "It's cold. Coffee isn't supposed to be cold." Moving it around, he found three things in the mug along with the coffee. He pulled one up, seeing that it was a cube of ice.

Sam's nose wrinkled. "When it melts, it turns into watered-down coffee."

"Gross," Dean replied. He put the ice cube on his small plate. He put the fork back into the mug. He could tell one of the other things was another ice cube. Pinning the last thing at the bottom of the mug, he stabbed down on it. He pulled it out, lightly tapping it against the inside rim of the mug to get the access coffee off. "Whatever this is, it's frozen in the middle."

"It's a strawberry," Sam said. He took the fork from Dean and bit off the end of the berry. "Yeah. Strawberry. The stem was cut off, though. A serrated knife was used, according to the ridges."

"Why the fuck was that in my coffee?"

"You did tell him to surprise you."

Dean rolled his eyes, not having a good comeback because his brother was right. _(As always.)_

The two brothers spent the next hour sitting in front of the coffeehouse, Dean having scarfed down his pie in the first ten minutes. They talked about Madison and the baby, Dean's apartment, anything that came to mind. When they stood up to leave, they took their mugs and Dean's plate back inside.

Castiel looked up at the open door, looking away again when he saw it was Dean. As Dean took Sam's mug, Sam asked the dark haired man, pointing his thumb at Dean over his shoulder, "You made his drink?"

Castiel nodded, silent, watching the man he saw every Sunday with curiosity.

"The strawberry was the bee's knees. Seriously," Sam complimented him as Dean put the two mugs and the plate in the small drop-off section on the counter.

Castiel walked over to it as he replied to Sam, "Thanks. I always put strawberries in my own coffee." Dean watched as he took the two mugs, hooking a finger into each handle and picking them up. He took the plate from Dean with his free hand.

"Well, it was good."

"you have a wife at home." Dean reminded him, leaning against the counter. "Quit the flirting."

Sam sighed at the insinuation. "I am being civil, for your information, Dean. I am allowed to be civil," he snapped back.

Castiel smiled at their interaction--he was slightly confused, not knowing what the two men were to each other. They bickered like an old married couple, or even siblings. He'd seen them there almost every Sunday, and saw their orders in the order booklet. The taller one got a dark brew, black. Dean got the same, just creamed with milk and flavored with nutmeg and a dash of vanilla extract.

Dean laughed. "Come on, you should get home to her. I've held you against your will long enough."

"You're my brother, you're allowed to."

"C'mon, I'll walk home with you. We've been bumping guns the past hour. Gotta see the sister-in-law so she doesn't think I don't like her anymore."

Castiel chuckled. "That's just common sense, really."

"See, Sammy, he gets it," Dean exclaimed, gesturing to Cas, who chuckled.

"You know Maddie likes you." Sam said.

"What, you don't want to leave?" Dean teased.

"You know, this place is comfortable..." Sam said, looking around. "I could live here. Coffee and food. I'd survive."

"I do have to say that that is illegal, and I would not appreciate it." Castiel spoke.

Dean guffawed, his body thrown back in it, his hands slapping together. Sam rolled his eyes, walking forward and pushing Dean's shoulder. He walked out of the coffeehouse. Dean grinned, winked and blew a sarcastic kiss at Castiel, and ran after his brother.

\----

"Maddie?" Sam shouted into the house as he and Dean entered it. Dean closed the door behind him, softly. He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, folding it over one of his arms as Madison came out from the kitchen. She smiled kindly at the two brothers.

"Hi!" she exclaimed, sweetly. She raised herself up on her toes and kissed Sam on the cheek, squeezing his arm. "How'd it go today?"

"Sam flirted with the owner."

"I did not flirt--how would you know that he is the owner?"

Dean froze. He quickly scrambled for words. "We've had small talk before, inside. He told me weeks ago that he owns the establishment."

Sam gave him a suspicious look before nodding. He turned to Madison, "I was complimenting him on what he did with Dean's drink. He put ice and a strawberry in it."

"Sounds...interesting." She said. "Ice? Really? Why?"

Sam shrugged as Dean said, "I told him to surprise me."

"So he added _ice_ to _coffee_?"

"You sound so aghast, Mads, close your mouth." Dean laughed. He reached forward, putting his knuckle under Madison's chin and pushing up. He brushed her shoulder and twirled a strand of her brown hair around his finger. "There you go. Perfect."

Madison rolled her eyes, a corner of her mouth turning up. "Are you joining us for dinner, Dean?"

"Sure, but I gotta leave before five. Whatcha' making?"

"I was waiting for you two to get back so you could be my slave." She quickly grabbed Dean's wrist before he could protest or ask what she meant, dragging him to the kitchen. He quickly threw his jacket onto the couch, Sam following behind. When Madison and Dean entered the kitchen, she let him go and said, "I need your help, I can't reach stuff and I don't want to get burned."

Dean said, "Sit down. You know I don't say no to cooking."

"I know, and that's why you're my favorite brother-in-law."

"That's good, because I'm your only brother-in-law. Otherwise, I'd strongly suggest therapy." He kissed her cheek as he passed by her, heading to the icebox.

About an hour later, Dean was finished with dinner, tossing a rag over his shoulder. Sometime while cooking, he'd quickly changed into a ratty undershirt of Sam's, rolling the short cotton sleeves up over his shoulders. He set two plates in front of Madison and Sam, who were sitting at the table in the middle of the kitchen. While he was cooking, Dean had a rule; people could be in the room, but they couldn't help him. He refused help. When Dean used to cook when he and Sam were growing up, he'd let his little brother help, but Sam always ended up getting in the way. The rule had stayed in place over the years, besides last year on Thanksgiving. That was the _definition_ of a disaster.

"Smells amazing, Dean." Madison smiled, looking up at him

"It better," he said, prideful. He narrowly avoided being smacked. He grabbed his own plate and moved to sit down at the table with them.

\----

Benny Laffite, along with one other man in town, was a lifesaver of the Winchesters. Almost fifteen years before, Dean and his brother had come to town with barely anything. They wanted to start over. When they first came to town, Dean got fired and rejected repeatedly. He had enough experience, since he had been working before he even turned eleven--the plan had been for Dean to start working when he was thirteen, Mary had begged of John. If it meant he had more time for school and to spend with Sammy, he didn't mind--but with all the child labor laws being questioned and controversial, Dean tended to not get the light of day. After going through job after job--somehow there was always some little tiny reason for him to get fired--Benny found out about the Winchesters around a year after they moved and tracked Dean down. Dean had been walking the streets, trying to find another job, when Benny managed to find him. The job was instantly offered, and Dean was thankful for him. At first, the man had been kind of like a father figure, but soon turned into one of his best friends. They were only six years apart in age, Benny having been twenty one and Dean fifteen. Over the years until Sam turned sixteen, Benny slightly overpaid Dean--which made a huge difference in the long-run--and offered him food every once in a while, and refused any money Dean tried to give him for it. Once they had played chase around the bar, Dean trying to make Benny take the money.

Having been close for years, the two knew more about each other than they probably should've. Dean knew how Benny was completely stuck on a girl from his past, back when he'd been in high school. The love for Andrea stayed with Benny, and it was like it had made itself a part of him that he couldn't ditch, as if it were his personality or absent habits. He knew Benny was from Louisiana, and Dean always wanted to go there with Benny one day, once Sam was stable and Dean could leave for a weekend without worrying. They still have yet to do so. They just haven't gotten around to it. Benny knew about Dean's family--the history that went back years before his father had even turned to alcohol because of a mysterious need for different comfort. He knew about sunny afternoons of Dean chasing Sammy around with dead limbs from the giant spruce tree in the backyard, about the days John would come home exhausted from work but would still smile and hug his sons and kiss his wife and sit down for a late dinner, about Dean begging to stay up most nights just to see his father. He also knew about Dean's sexuality. Dean had once apparently been occasionally staring at a guy that had been in the bar, and the older man had confronted him about it when they were cleaning up after closing. The younger had denied everything Benny was laying on him, but gave in when Benny told him about trying on his ex-girlfriend's panties and liking the feel of the lace. It was just fair, Dean knew, and he already knew by the way Benny had been talking to him that he didn't care and would protect him. And Benny did protect him, like he already had been. He just added another small thing on to the case of Dean Winchester, that he actually liked solving. Even then, it wasn't really a case. Benny was just a little lonely and getting Dean Winchester to smile made his day.

Once the door was closing behind him, Dean made a finger-gun motion at Benny, who stood behind the bar--even though alcohol was prohibited, the bar wasn't taken down. Benny refused when the law proposed it to him, saying that it was the way his uncle built it and it was going to stay like that. It was just used as another countertop, or if someone was making too much and needed more counter space, or as another place to eat--Benny made the motion back, flinging a hand towel over his shoulder with his other hand. Dean jumped up onto the bar as Benny vocally greeted him, saying, "How was Sammy today?" Dean spun around on the counter as Benny said this, and he hopped off the counter on the other side.

"Sam was fine. Mads is a little snappy and he's acting like a kicked puppy about it, but nothing horrible."

Benny nodded. "Still really excited for a little Winchester running around," he said, now grinning.

Dean smiled, nodding in agreement as he said, "Yeah. It's gonna be a girl, I just know it."

"I say it's a boy," Benny said, shrugging.

"You don't have my uncle intuition."

"I can still play the guessing game. But, what about you, Dean? Anything new?"

"I literally saw you last Wednesday."

"A lot can happen in almost four days!" he exclaimed.

Dean rolled his eyes, grinning. He wandered into the kitchen, already having on his uniform--it was nothing fancy, black slacks and black shirt, and he was allowed to wear his grunge-y boots.

"So something did happen!" Benny said, enthusiastically. He leaned into the kitchen, with his hands on either side of the open doorway between the bar and the kitchen.

"Maybe," he said, monotone, looking for the things he tended to need during his shift. The cook before him moved things out of their spots, and it irked Dean to the point that he once came in early and yelled at him. Dean's been working there since he was fifteen, and everything in that kitchen had been in the same spot before that Airedale got hired. Though Dean only worked part time, he came in a lot during the week for overtime, and Benny was thankful for it. Who would Dean be to leave Benny with an imbecile?

"Brother, don't leave me hanging!"

Dean scoffed. "Fine! I met someone."

Benny grinned. He lowered his voice and asked, "A _male_ someone?"

"Yeah, a 'male someone.' He flirted with me at the bar."

"Oh, the guy's gotta know better."

Dean shrugged. "At least he got me, right? He could've gotten some guy who would beat him into a pulp for even looking at him."

"That's true. So then what happened?"

"He...I--Benny."

"Did you get cashed and checked?"

Dean couldn't stop the heat that rushed to his face. "I--Benny, _I_ did the cashing and checking."

Benny's eyes widened. "Winchester, you know--"

"I know. I know. I'm probably not ever going to see him again--and if I do, he's easy to ignore and I'll be with Sammy--"

"How do you know you'd be with Sam?"

He sighed. "...He owns the coffeehouse Sam and I go to every Sunday."

"Dean!"

"I know!" he almost shouted, throwing his hands in the air.

~~~***~~~

_I think you would've liked him. He was selfless, he was kind...he was amazing...And now I'm referring to him in past tense and he's not even dead...fuck. I don't know, he could be dead. I don't know._

**June 30, 1924**

The next time Dean saw Castiel again was on his doorstep, soaked in warm, humid rain, his fists clenched. It was past one in the morning, and he just got back home from working at the bar in the past fifteen minutes. Having just gotten a shower to get the smell of grease off of him the best he could, he was dressed for bed, in comfortable cotton slacks and a cotton short-sleeved undershirt, feet bare.

"Cas--?"

He surged forward, fastening his hands on the sides of Dean's head and kissing him, roughly. Dean stumbled back and Castiel kicked the door closed, not hard enough for it to slam loudly, but enough for the latch to click. Dean caught himself on the wall behind him to keep from falling backwards. It was like, just by kissing him, Castiel took all strength out of Dean's body, turning him into melted butter. It was like, just by looking at him, Castiel sucked all the air out of Dean's lungs and he couldn't breathe anymore.

Dean made a deep sound in his throat, pushing Castiel away a little. "Cas, it's been two weeks--what is this?"

Cas sighed, almost brokenly, dropping his forehead onto Dean's shoulder. "I just...I haven't been able to get you out of my head."

"...Is that good or bad?"

"Dean, I've never been in love--not that I'm in love with you, I've just never been stuck on someone the way I am with you. Every night, I've thought about you. I saw someone with green eyes, I saw you. I saw someone at the dance hall the other night, I saw you. I see you everywhere, Dean, and it's driving me crazy!"

"Cas, sh."

"Don't call me that."

"Get used to it, sweetheart, cause I'm not stopping anytime soon."

Castiel took his head from Dean's shoulder, looking him in the eyes, his own blue eyes wide. "What do you mean, anytime soon?"

Dean smirked. "You could be my Blue Serge," he said, sarcastically.

Castiel rolled his eyes and shoved at Dean's shoulder. "Does that make you my goof?"

"If you want."

"Yes, you're my goof, in all senses of the word." He smiled, pulling Dean's face to his in a soft kiss.

\----

The two men layed beside each other, their legs tangled. Cas lay on his side and facing Dean, while Dean was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Both of their chests heaved, Dean's blanket tangled around their legs. It was the middle of the night, silver moonlight filtering through the crack between Dean's two curtains, giving a light silver wash to their skin. It made Dean's look golden pale and Castiel's glow a soft silver with a light gold hue.

Castiel ran his mouth over the hollow of Dean's cheek, pressing his forehead to his temple. He traced the shape of Dean's face, memorizing his features with the tips of his fingers and the pad of his thumb. "Tell me about your family," he said, under his breath.

"Hm? Why my family?"

"You seem like a family person. You meet your brother out every Sunday. It's like your substitute for church."

"Yeah, it practically is. He doesn't work Sundays unless called in for overtime, and I work Sunday evenings. It's a chance for us to talk without Madison being around--don't get me wrong, I love Sam's wife with all my heart, but I do like talking to just my brother."

Castiel nodded. "I understand."

"But, it's just me and Sammy anymore."

"What about your parents? How did you two grow up?"

Dean swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. After a few seconds, he spoke, "Sam and I didn't grow up too bad, I don't think. Yeah, my dad was a little loose, liquor was his best friend and shit. Angry drunk. Hit my mom more than a fair number of times. I don't care what people say, it's not okay to hit your wife or kids. It's not right. But, Mom died when I was fourteen. Dad died a few years ago. Sam met a girl. They're married and expecting their first baby. I'm happy for them. I think it's gonna be a girl."

"How would you know if it'll be a girl or not?" he chuckled.

"It's that powerful uncle intuition," he said, giving Cas an obvious look. The other man laughed, rolling onto his back. Dean rolled onto his side, putting his arm around Castiel and pulling him close. "What about your family? Got any?"

He froze. "As far as they believe, I'm not their family. So, no, I don't have any family."

Dean stayed silent, just looking at him. They never broke eye contact, Castiel's shocking blues boring into Dean's green. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"Date of birth?" he asked, moving on.

Dean didn't pry, and he didn't miss a beat. "January 24th, 1896."

"1897. A little less than a year younger than you."

"Aw, I don't get to know your birthday?" Dean whined, nuzzling Castiel's neck. "What if I want to give you a special birthday gift?"

Castiel laughed, the sound containing a gasp because of Dean being preoccupied pressing soft, tender kisses down his jugular. "Just choose a day!"

The two spent the rest of the night alternating between rolling around in bed together, tugging at each other's hair, carving their nails into each other's skin by how tight they were at times holding each other, lazily kissing, and talking to each other about their lives--Dean talked about Sam and Madison and the baby on the way, and Cas talked about the coffeehouse and school he had attended years before, his family barely ever coming up--and when they did, they were just mentioned or referenced. By the time the sun rose for the next day, they were both drowned in each other, completely and utterly infatuated with the other.

~~~***~~~

 _I_ _should probably give you some context, huh?_

**July 4, 1924**

"Cas, come on, please? It's _fireworks_!"

"It's the same every year."

"Well, it could be different. You'll never know unless you go."

Castiel rolled his eyes and Dean's knees went a little shaky. Dean was trying to get Castiel to go to the Independence Day fireworks. There was a fireworks display every year just on the outskirts of town, in a field with a gorgeous lake that was always adorned with adorable ducks.

"I used to go every year because of that, but they never changed it, so no, I'm not going. Besides, you said Sam's going--"

"You're a friend?"

Castiel put a hand on Dean's shoulder, running it down his bicep and back up again. "Dean, you know that he knows you better than you do yourself. He'll know that you're lying to him."

"No, he won't, I am a foolproof liar--"

Cas gave him a look that made him cut himself off. "Every time you give out an unpracticed lie, your eyes widen a little. Very slightly, maybe only for a second or two, but it still happens. And I just saw it. I've known you for less than a month and even I know that. Your brother has known you your whole life."

"He doesn't stare into my eyes every night."

"Not every night, shut your mouth," he said, swatting him upside the head.

Dean laughed. "Come on, Cas, please? For me?"

After a few seconds, Cas sighed.

Dean said, "One of my friends is going because she wants to meet you. She knows about you and I. She and Sam have met each other and are also close friends, so it won't be very suspicious that I'm bringing you."

"Okay, so who's all ossified enough to go to this?"

"Sam and Mads are bringing Sam's friend Andy. I'm bringing you and Charlie."

"Dean, I--"

"No, Cas, don't be smart and make a point of why you can't go."

"Dean, we don't know how long we're going to be together."

"Cas--"

"We could break up next week, for all we know."

"That's completely besides the point--"

"Sam knows I work at the coffeehouse."

"So?"

"He knows who I am. I don't want to lie to him."

"Cas, just because you know him doesn't mean you can't lie to him."

"Dean, I can't lie to him for you. I'm sorry. He's not my brother, I can't."

After a few seconds, Dean sighed in defeat. "Okay. Fine. I'm sorry I asked. I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do."

Castiel pecked Dean's cheek. "Have fun, okay?"

Dean chuckled and put a hand on the small of Cas's back. "I'll try."

"You better." He kissed the corner of Dean's mouth before pulling away. "I have to run home."

"Now?"

He nodded, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. "I know the fireworks are in a few hours, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'll go surprise Charlie." Dean grabbed the front of Cas's jacket and pulled him back in for another kiss. "Bring back a pie, okay?"

He laughed. "Sometimes I swear that you use me just for free pie."

"Bushwa!" Dean exclaimed.

Cas gave him a look of disbelief.

"I totally do, I really just hate you," he teased, the corners of his mouth pulling up.

Cas kissed him again before pulling away. He said, "Bye, Dean," as he walked to the front door, setting his hand on the knob as Dean replied;

"Bye, Cas."

\----

"Dean! I was just about to leave!" Charlie exclaimed as she and Dean hugged at her front door.

She and Dean pulled away as he said, "Well, I'll be your honored escort."

She rolled her eyes. "Let me grab my cover. Come on." She gestured to inside before turning and walking back in. Dean took a few steps inside, closing the green front door behind him. His best friend's house was full of vibrant colors. The walls were all different in each room, the door was an emerald forest-y green, the carpet was navy blue in most rooms, gray in the few that it wasn't. None of the furniture in the house went together or even matched the rooms they were in, all different styles and fabrics and colors. "So, where's your blue serge?"

"He had to go to work."

"And?"

Dean sighed. "He didn't want to lie to Sam."

She came out of her room down the hall, nodding, a long, wide cloth around her shoulders. "I don't think anyone really wants to lie to Sam, he's really tall and can be terrifying when he wants to be."

He chuckled. "You know what I mean, Charlie."

"Yeah. I get that. Why didn't he want to lie? Besides it being, you know, immoral and all," she shrugged.

"He told me that Sam isn't his brother, he couldn't lie to him."

"But he'd be lying for you."

"Yeah, and we both knew that, but he couldn't since we don't know how long this'll be lasting, and he said that Sam already knows who he is, he sees us most Sundays at the coffeehouse, and he didn't want Sam to know him on a deeper level."

She nodded again. "So, we're meeting Sam and Madison somewhere, right?"

"Yeah. Cas goes in for work later, but Sam said we'd get to the coffeehouse before the time Cas goes in, so I agreed to it."

"Okay. Let's go!" she exclaimed, running down to the buggy Dean had ridden in--he would've walked, but Charlie lived completely on the other side of town. He followed after her. They both slid into the back seats--they liked facing away from the driver, looking at what they were leaving behind--and, upon their instruction, the driver drove them downtown. They passed Dean's apartment before pulling up to the curb in front of the coffeehouse. They both got out, Dean paying the driver before walking into the coffeehouse to find Sam, Madison, and Andy seated at a table.

"We decided to wait for you two," Sam said, giving them a smile.

"Sadly," Andy sighed, sarcastically.

"We only got here a few minutes ago," Madison added, standing up.

Charlie met Madison in the middle with a hug. Sam stood up as the two women greeted each other, Charlie asking Madison how she and the baby were doing and such. Sam and Dean started towards the counter as a strangled shout came from the kitchen. Dean froze, the sound seeming familiar.

"ADAM!" Castiel shouted, enraged, stalking out of the kitchen covered in--what seemed to be--flour. Dean could almost laugh, but Cas looked so pissed off that it almost wasn't one bit funny. Almost.

The one busboy who was wiping a table across the coffeehouse looked up at his boss and immediately burst into laughter. "Cassie, you look pale!" he cackled.

"What the hell was that? S-some kind of flour bomb?" he demanded, stumbling over his words because he was so angry.

"That's exactly what it was, good guess!"

"I--God--Adam--You're fired!" he bellowed, raking flour out of his dark hair and swiping it off his face. "You are so fired that it's past firing--you're banned."

"Cassie, it was a joke--"

"Your joke just wasted my money!"

"I'm sorry, but you were so pent up today, I was trying--"

"GET OUT!" he shouted.

Adam sighed and left the coffeehouse. Cas sighed exasperatedly and collapsed on the ordering counter, his forehead on the edge closest to Dean and Sam. Dean looked around, grabbing a few napkins from a table and walking over to Cas. "These may possibly help."

Cas looked up and surprise flashed in his blue eyes for a second. "Uh, napkins don't do much for this," he said, dumbly, straightening. "Uh--" He looked at Sam and the small group who was silent at a table on the wall, their eyes wide and surprised with what had just happened. "--What all--" There was a loud pop from the kitchen and Castiel's shoulder's stiffened.

"Uh, I'd go check that," Sam said, softly.

Castiel sighed out a groan and walked into the kitchen. There was a loud bang. "Everything's covered in flour!" he shouted, and there was a slam before Cas stalked back out. "What can I get you before I have to close?" he asked.

"We'll just go--" Madison started.

"No," he said. "What can I get you?"

"Cas--" Dean shut his mouth at his lover's murderous look.

"I--What you made him, with the strawberry and ice, and a regular with milk and vanilla, both Dixie," Sam said, softly.

"And a plain herbal tea," Charlie pipped.

Cas nodded, sighing. He slapped his chest and a plume of flour came off of him. He worked in silence. Dean gave Sam a questioning look. "Only two?"

"Only me and Andy wanted anything."

Dean nodded. There was a loud, unnatural clank from behind the counter and he heard Cas growl. The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up. Dean looked over to see Cas with his hands in his hair.

"We'll just go," Sam said. "Maddie?"

"Me and Dean are right behind," Charlie said, softly, as Dean kept looking at Cas.

Dean listened as Sam, Madison, and Andy left the coffeehouse, the door swinging shut behind them. Once Dean heard the roar of a taxi pulling up and driving way less than a minute later, he stepped closer to the counter. "Cas?"

"It's broken."

"The machine?"

Cas turned, his eyes wide and lips parted, limply. "T-the coffee machine is broken. I--Dean, if I can't afford another--"

"I'll help you," he said, softly.

"I-I-I can't ask that of you," he said, shaking his head, stumbling into the front counter. Dean took another step forward, putting one of his hands over Cas's flour-covered ones. "Shit. I have to close to clean up the flour, I have to stay closed for this stupid machine--"

"Cas, it's going to be fine--"

"Dean, if I stay closed for too long, I get put out of business!" he exclaimed, his eyes watering. "I loose my lease on the building--I live upstairs! I have to hire a new busboy--"

"I'll help you," Dean said, putting more force into his words. Cas didn't speak, just kept looking at him. He went on. "I'll help you. You can live with me if needed, I'll invest, I'll help you clean it all up--"

"You need a permit to be behind the counter," he whispered.

"Then I'll get a permit," he said, softly.

Charlie aw'd behind Dean. He looked over his shoulder, giving her a look. She put her hands over her mouth. "Sorry," she said, muffled.

Dean and Cas both chuckled. Cas looked at her. "You must be Charlie. I'm Castiel."

Her hands flew from her mouth as she bounded forward, pushing Dean to the side. Cas laughed as Dean stumbled, catching himself with the counter. "Hi!" she exclaimed, grinning.

"H-hi."

"I'm Dean's best friend."

Dean grumbled, "Not the only one," as Castiel said, "I know."

"Dean? I think you mean 'the one and only.'" Charlie said, sweetly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Benny." Was all he said.

"Yeah yeah, the guy practically saved your life, blah blah blah."

"Shouldn't you guys be getting a spot at the fireworks?" Castiel asked them, moving past the subject.

"Sam's got it," Charlie shrugged.

"Cas, don't you need help--?"

"Dean, go. You promised me you'd have fun. Cleaning up flour is not fun."

"Cleaning up flour with your boyfriend is fun," Dean insisted.

"No, you promised me," Charlie and Cas said in unison.

Dean sighed. "Okay, fine. Do you want me to come back later, Cas?"

"No, I'll meet you at--"

"No, baby, I'll come back here. I want to make myself as useful as I can."

"Aw, you called him 'baby!'" Charlie squealed, jumping up and down.

"Shut up and go get a taxi," Dean told her.

"I'm not a child!"

"It'll only be a minute and I'll be right there. Go."

Charlie sighed. "It was nice meeting you, Cas."

"No, go, Dean," Cas said. He leaned across the counter and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek. "You two go have fun."

Dean turned his head and pecked him on the lips before moving away. "We will. Charlene?"

Charlie rolled her eyes and walked towards the door. Dean turned the sign around so people outside saw the word **CLOSED**. The two friends called goodbyes over their shoulders as they left, letting the glass door swing shut behind them.

Charlie looked at him and laughed.

"What?" Dean asked.

"You have flour on your face," she giggled.

~~~***~~~

_I met him at a dance hall in June of 1924. About four years ago. The air in the hall was muggy and humid, from the air from outside and the body heat inside. Sweat stuck everyone's hair to their skin, especially the ones who were dancing. I was dancing. I was dancing with this girl. Then he came and ran into me._

**October 31, 1924**

"Dean, I really don't feel like going dancing. Besides, I wouldn't be able to dance with you."

"Cas, c'mon!" Dean whined. "You always say no to stuff, just say yes for once! It's Halloween!"

"I know. But, you could get mistaken for a juvenile and get shot. You know what's been going on lately."

Dean sighed, knowing it was true. Adults shooting kids on Halloween had slowly been becoming a big thing over the years, to try to scare kids enough to stop vandalizing, and the whole ordeal was only getting bigger. He and Cas have already jumped at a few gunshots coming from streets around them.

"I know you. You want to get drunk tonight, too. When you get drunk, you can't keep your hands or your mouth to yourself," Cas said, taking Dean's face in his hands. "You could get us both in serious trouble."

"So I won't drink! Maybe one glass of scotch and that'll be it! Besides, you know it's only bourbon and whiskey that make me horny. Hence the effects after drinking that Old Fashioned the night we met," he winked.

Cas sighed, pushing the smug man away. "Yeah, but scotch makes you depressed."

"But it tastes so good and it's sooooo smooth!"

"Dean!"

"I love a scotch that's old enough to buy its own drink and get ossified, seriously."

"I really don't feel like it."

"I know, I know, you've been fighting a bug off," he huffed, dropping down into one of the three chairs at his small dining room table that was in the large open area of his bedroom and kitchen. "But you've been pretty good the past few days, I think you're better."

"That doesn't mean I don't still feel like shit."

"True. But, dancing might help you sweat it off?"

"I'd just probably throw up trying to do The Charleston." He said, taking a sip from his glass that was halfway full with some kind of lemon-mint-water concoction, leaning his hip against the table. He set it down on the tabletop, beside an envelope that had been torn open the day before with a hilted envelope knife.

"At least you'd be getting this horrid thing out of your system," Dean said, reaching over and taking Cas's glass. He smelled the contents, his eyes watering at the strengths of the mint and lemon combining.

"It's some kind of detox. It's supposed to help me feel better--and if I do throw up, it tastes like lemon," Cas said, giving Dean a face as he took it back. "Home remedies are some of the best things you can count on when you're sick."

Dean stood and took Cas's face in his hands. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek--not in a kiss, but checking his temperature. He leaned back a little, looking Cas in the eye. "You're a little warm," he murmured, running his fingers through Cas's hair.

"God, I really want to kiss you."

"Nuh-uh, I don't wanna be sick."

Cas rolled his eyes. "You're the one using your mouth as a thermometer."

"My mom did it with me and it worked--don't blame me, blame her."

"Don't blame the dead, Dean," he chastised.

"I'm not saying it in vain."

"Technicalities." Cas rolled his eyes, taking another sip.

"Good God, just watching you drink that makes me sick," Dean exclaimed, walking away. He heard Cas laugh lightly behind him.

"I'm just waiting for you to get sick and want it."

"That's baloney."

"You'd be quite surprised about the wonders it's doing," Cas said as Dean turned back to him, walking back into the kitchen area.

"And you'd be quite surprised about how hungry I am," he said, opening the cabinet. He found a bag of chipsand pulled it out of the cabinet. He leaned against the counter, turned to face Cas as he looked down at the bag, opening it.

Cas's nose wrinkled. "Ew, you're gonna eat those?"

Dean looked up at Cas. "Yeah. So?"

He shook his head, looking away. "Never mind, go ahead and eat something that'll rot your insides."

"Gladly."

After a few minutes of them talking back and forth as Dean ate the chips, a queasy feeling settled over Dean. He put his fist to his mouth, swallowing. He suddenly gagged. He put the bag of chips down on the counter, moving to lean over the sink. He immediately thought better of it ( _Cas would throw a fit if I threw up in the sink_ ) and ran to the bathroom, catching Castiel's worn-out attention.

"Hell yes! I mean--baby, are you okay?" he called.

Dean dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, pushing the lid up. He gagged again and spit into the toilet water, wincing. He breathed in through his nose, using a method that he always used as a kid when he felt like he was about to throw up and just wanted to get it over with quicker. He breathed in the smell of the toilet water for a minute before he was suddenly puking, his throat burning and eyes watering.

When he walked back out to the kitchen in a daze, his mouth tasting disgusting, Cas said, "I would've gone in and comforted you like a good person, but if I see someone throwing up, I throw up, and I didn't want to do that on your back."

"I thank you for that."

Cas held out a second glass. "Drink up, Winchester. We're in for a long night."

~~~***~~~

 _That night, we talked at the bar. I took to him almost instantly--sipping at an Old Fashioned without a care in the world, flirting with me in front of a crowd of people, any of whom could report us. He didn't care. And, somehow, because he didn't care, I didn't care. I forgot that it was illegal. I forgot that I could've been reported and arrested. I could've been killed, I could've been taken in for testing...I just forgot about all of that and focused on him. On the way his mouth moved when he tied his cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. On his eyes. On the slight shine of sweat on his throat. What it would've been like to kiss him...I got to figure that one out._ _He tasted like whiskey and oranges and cherries._

**November 27, 1924**

"Cas, I really want--"

"Dean, we can't--"

He sighed brokenly, dropping his forehead onto Cas's shoulder. "I really wish you could come with me," he whispered as Cas slid his hand over the nape of Dean's neck, burying his fingertips in his soft hair.

"I know," he said back, solemnly.

"I wish I could introduce you to him without being scared. He didn't have to be scared when he introduced me to Madison--I mean, yeah, he was nervous I wouldn't like her, but he didn't have to fear for his life!"

"Dean, you know your brother would never hurt you," Cas soothed, kissing Dean just above his ear. He pulled Dean's face to his, looking him in the eyes. "I know that your brother means everything to you--he's your whole world, I get that. But there's some things that some people just can't do yet."

Dean sighed. "I really wish it wasn't like that. I wish that this isn't how the world works."

"I do, too. But what's the point in wishing? They won't become our reality."

He nodded. "Yeah." He pulled away from Castiel, tugging at Cas's coat. "Who're you going with again?"

"Old family friend," he said, seriously.

"Don't get drunk, alright? I'm not there to save you this time." He smirked.

"If by 'save' you mean 'encourage me to say things I would never say while sober,' then yes, you've kept me very safe."

Dean grinned, shrugging innocently. He kissed Castiel, quickly, before pulling away again. "Bye!" he called as he ran to the front door, his long black coat billowing behind him. He heard Cas call back a goodbye as he opened and closed the door, running down the hall.

\----

"Hello people of the Winchester household!" Dean shouted as he walked in the front door of Sam's house, not having even knocked. It was improper of him, he knew that--but then again, when is Dean ever proper?

Sam skidded out of the kitchen. "Dude, we need you in here," he gasped out, his hair wild.

He laughed, shedding his coat and slinging it over the back of a chair in the living room. He ran to the kitchen, sliding past Sam, seeing Madison trying to manage everything on her own. "Whoa, Mads, take it easy! Go sit down! This is too much stress for you right now and it's too warm," he exclaimed, pulling Madison back away from the stove and snatching the spoon from her hand.

"But Dean, Sam made a mistake--!"

"I'm here now, I've got it. Put Sam in time-out."

She gasped out a laugh. She moved out of the way of Dean, who immediately analyzed the situation as he took off his dress shirt, showing his short sleeved gray cotton undershirt. Potatoes over-boiled. Turkey and rolls in the oven. Corn off the cobb steaming in a small pot on the back burner. It wasn't huge, which was good. Last year had been giant, because it was the first Thanksgiving Madison ever hosted for her parents and sister and she had wanted to impress them. Dean remembered spending the night the day before and Madison waking him up at six in the morning to help her prepare. After a few disasters, Dean and Madison had managed to make an amazing meal that'd be remembered by its guests and the cooks.

He snapped his fingers, thinking as he walked quickly to the stove. He grabbed an oven pad and took hold of the handle to the pot holding the potatoes, taking it over to the sink and putting it in. He'd deal with that in a few minutes. He made sure everything else was okay, seeing what else needed done. He gathered everything around so he could grab it as it was needed.

He turned back to the potatoes, pulling the lid off them. He leaned back as steam billowed up. If he wore glasses, they would've been fogged for a few minutes. He grabbed a clean fork from the drawer and stabbed one of the cut slices. Soft and completely cooked. He dragged the fork along the side of the pot, letting the piece of potato fall back into the pot. He put the fork to the side, grabbing the lid and positioned it so it wasn't closed about an inch, tilted. He lifted the pot and turned it onto it's side, the inch-wide space at the bottom, pouring the boiled water out into the sink. Once emptied, he put the pot on the counter and bounded across the kitchen in two strides, grabbing the masher, salt, butter, and milk.

\----

When Dean dropped down into his seat for dinner, it was the first time he sat since he got there. He was seated across from Madison's sister, Emily, Sam being the only person he was beside. He focused on breathing as Madison's parents said their prayers, he and Sam taking each other's hands and bowing their heads respectively, though the two of them don't say prayers.

Once he was allowed to eat, Dean didn't pick up his fork. He had his head tipped back, taking deep breaths. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Breathing," he said, softly. "Whew." He sat up, tipping his head back forward and picking up his fork. "You know, gotta breathe."

The conversation the two families had during their meal mostly consisted of small talk. Sam and Madison talked about the baby and how they were preparing for it to come in December, Arthur and Bethany--Madison's parents--spoke of their jobs and the mortgage of their house going down, and Emily asked Dean multiple questions, which followed even after the meal was over and Dean retreated to the living room, Sam, Arthur, and Beth ordering him to take a break after finishing cooking. Emily just followed, asking him question after question. He answered most of them, ignoring some, but he didn't expand on any. She was just annoying him. Dean wasn't focusing on her. He didn't care about her. He cared that Cas wasn't with him. Dean had really wanted Castiel to come with him today, but they both knew that that wasn't possible--not yet. Maybe someday, most likely after Dean dies.

After a bit, the rest of the people came to the living room. As they filed in, Emily asked, "Are you okay, Dean? You seem upset."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he snapped. "Just stop it with the questions, okay?"

Sam sat down beside Dean and gave his brother a questioning look, but Dean just shook his head.

\----

Dean walked into his apartment hours later with his coat bunched up and slung over one broad shoulder, his button down unbuttoned and showing his undershirt. "Cas?" he asked, collapsing against the back of the door after he closed it. He slid down to the floor as he heard Castiel reply.

"Dean?"

"Uh-huh. Babe, I need love."

There were a few sounds. A few moments later, Cas walked into view. He chuckled at Dean sitting on the floor. "That bad?" he asked, coming forward and dropping down in front of Dean, crossing his legs.

"It wasn't that bad. Just very..." he yawned, "tiring. The second I got there I had to go the kitchen. I was there until dinner. Madison's sister kept hammering me with questions until I snapped at her after dinner. Madison's parents wanted to know why I didn't have a wife, and it wasn't like I could say, 'My fairy boyfriend couldn't make it tonight, sorry.'"

Cas scoffed, shaking his head. "Besides what all you just said, it was okay?"

"Yeah! The food was awesome--"

"You're saying that because you made it."

"Aw, you know me so well!" he said sarcastically, reaching forward and pulling Cas to him. He kissed him deeply, putting his arms around Cas's neck. The dark haired man obliged, running his hands down Dean's sides to grip his hips, tucking his fingers into his belt loops and pulling him closer.

~~~***~~~

_His name was Castiel. I called him Cas...He hated that, but he eventually stopped caring._

**December 25, 1924**

"You've got to get to Sam's," Cas reminded him, putting his hands between them to try to push Dean away--unfortunately for his intentions, he melted into the kiss Dean managed to capture him in.

"I don't _have_ to go anywhere," Dean said in a low voice, walking Castiel back into the wall. He kissed down Cas's neck, gently nipping the skin to make the other man gasp.

"You _should_ go," he said, quietly, his breath hitching in his throat. Despite his words, he held fistfuls of Dean's shirt.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said, absently, kissing at Cas's shoulder as he bunched his sleeve in his fist.

"Dean--" he whispered, softly, breaking off when there was banging on the door. They both instantly jumped apart, Dean shoving Cas into his closet and closing the door. He fixed his shirt and pants before running to the door and throwing it open.

Sam stood there, gasping for breath, tears shining on his cheeks. "D-Dean--"

"Sam, what happened?" he exclaimed, pulling his little brother into the apartment. He closed the door behind him as Sam walked into the kitchen, rummaging through Dean's cabinets.

He found a half empty bottle of scotch and twisted the top off as he answered. The action burned inside of Dean's chest--Sam drinking was a weird thing, and he wouldn't ever drink Dean's stash because he knew that it was hard to get. "He was born dead," he said as he took a swig of the alcohol. He swallowed as he put the top back on the bottle. He slid it back into the cabinet, closing the door.

Dean's eyes widened. "The baby was born dead?"

"Male. Died premature, at five months." He dropped down into one of Dean's chairs, putting his elbows on his knees. "Maddie always thought something felt off, that there was no movement, but neither of us really thought anything of it--even then, what could we have done? There's nothing that can show you what the baby's doing. If it's still alive. At-at doctor's visits, they always said everything was fine!" He put his hand over his mouth, turning his head down.

"Sammy--"

"She told me to get you while she was in labor, but I couldn't leave. She gave birth. After an hour or two, she told me to go get you. Th-this is me getting you," he said, his voice cold.

"Yeah. Give me a second, let me get my coat. You go ahead, I'll meet you downstairs."

Sam nodded, sliding past Dean. When he opened the front door, Dean quickly went to his closet, opening the door as Sam closed the front door.

"Your, uh, uncle intuition was wrong," Cas said, awkwardly. "It was a boy, not a girl."

"Not the time, Cas," he said, his voice low. He reached past him, grabbing his coat and yanking it from the hook.

Castiel ducked under Dean's arm, straightening behind Dean and turning to look at him. "Dean, I'm sorry. A-about the baby and what I just said, I'm sorry."

"You should be telling that to Sam."

"Sam wasn't the only one to lose something. You lost a nephew."

"Yeah? Sam and Madison lost their son and they didn't even know it. I-I--"

Cas pressed a quick kiss to Dean's cheek and a small burst of peace went though Dean's veins, calming him slightly. "Come find me if you need anything," he said, softly.

Dean nodded and ran to the front door. He opened the door and ran out of the apartment, yanking it shut behind him and sprinting down the hall, his coat billowing behind him as he jumped most of the stairs.

\----

At seeing Dean run into the bedroom--Sam was caught up by one of the two midwives--Madison started crying again, a new, fresh wave of tears overwhelming her. Dean started towards her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her head to his chest, running a hand through her long brown hair. "Mads, oh my god," he gasped, sitting on the edge of her bed. She put her head under his chin, crying into his neck. He felt tears stinging his eyes, but he held them back. They didn't need him crying, too.

"I knew something was wrong, Dean," she whimpered.

"I know, I know. You told me months ago," he said, softly, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

"Where's Sam?"

"One of the midwives hooked their claws into him, but he'll be back soon, I promise." He kissed the top of her head. "You've got me, I'm good enough, right?"

"You're dirt."

"I'm hurt."

She laughed, but the usual happy sound that Dean loved hearing just sounded broken.

Dean sighed, setting his chin on top of her head. "I'm so sorry, Mads. You and Sam really didn't deserve--"

"It wasn't time for us to have a baby," she said, softly, sniffling.

"You really think that?"

"What other explanation could it be, besides the fact that it's just life and bad things happen to good people?"

Dean stayed silent, not answering her. Maybe she was right, and something above made a mistake and Sam and Madison weren't ready to have a baby. Maybe it had just been that the baby wasn't strong enough or something happened to it inside the womb. Whatever happened, Dean didn't like it.

He stayed with Sam and Madison the rest of the day. He sat at the foot of Madison's bed, Sam sitting beside her, their fingers intertwined, and Dean wished Cas was with him and that they could hold hands like that and not worry about somebody calling the police on them.

But as Cas told him a month ago, wishing wasn't going to do anything. There was just some things that some people couldn't do yet.


	2. 1925

_Surprisingly, we were together for four years._

**December 31, 1924**

Dean and Cas sat beside each other in the coffeehouse, Dean perched on the counter after not getting Cas's permission, Cas absently pacing behind the counter. They both listened to the radio--the New Year's Eve broadcast, to be specific. They basked in each other's company in silence, besides the static voices coming from the radio.

Finally, Cas said, "I had a pie in the oven."

Dean's eyes widened. "And you didn't tell me?" he exclaimed.

"It's been cooling."

"Cas, you know that doesn't stop me."

He rolled his eyes and put his arms around Dean's waist, pulling him closer, standing between Dean's legs. "I know, and that's why I didn't tell you. I am surprised you didn't smell it," he said, softly, and kissed Dean's jaw as Dean put his arms over his shoulders. He folded his fingers into Cas's soft hair, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Cas broke away, dropping his forehead onto Dean's collar. Dean set his chin on top of his head, threading his fingers together on the nape of his neck as he said, "Well, this whole place does smell like pie. All day, every day."

"Cas?" the dark haired man asked, softly.

"Hm?" he hummed in response.

"I love you."

He kissed the crown of Cas's head before replying. "I love you, too."

Castiel kissed at Dean's collar through the cloth of his shirt, sliding his thumbs over the waistband of Dean's trousers. He kissed up hiss neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. Dean tipped his head back, mouth parted limply in bliss.

Suddenly, Cas pulled away again. Dean groaned, letting himself fall onto his back, his shoulders off the other side of the counter, his head hanging over the edge. "What now?"

"Not on the counter."

"You wurp."

"Go upstairs," he said, his voice authoritive but somehow soft. "I'll be up in a minute with the pie."

Dean's eyebrows raised and he quickly sat up. "Really--?"

"Don't talk or I'm not doing it."

Dean guffawed, spinning around and jumping off the counter. He threw open the door marked **EMPLOYEES ONLY** and ran up the staircase to the side, heading up to Castiel's apartment. Dean liked Cas's apartment, partially because it was much like his own. Sure, Castiel owned more, but they both had mostly open spaces. There weren't walls separating everything, and Dean liked that. What needed to be separated was separated and that was it.

At the top of the stairs, Dean instantly saw the kitchen. It was small ( _Cas always complained about it_ ) and cramped up, but it did well for its purpose. Flush against the counter was the table, along with two stools closest to Dean. He turned to the right, where there was a hollowed out "wall" made into a linen closet right at the edge of the cut out floor above the stairs, kind of separating Cas's bed from the stairs. Dean threw himself onto the bed, staring at the large bookshelf a few feet away from the foot of the bed. One weird thing that he liked was watching Cas read--he got so absorbed into the story that he didn't realize anything was happening around him. Once, Dean dropped all the pots in the kitchen, accidentally having them fall out of the cabinet, and Cas didn't even look up. Dean was amazed by that. Once Dean twisted his ankle and fell, his ankle swelled very quickly and he couldn't get up. He had to throw multiple things at his boyfriend to get his attention.

Dean was still laying on his back when Castiel walked into the apartment, setting the pie on the table and reaching to his collar, starting to unbutton his shirt. Dean watched him, rolling so he was facing him on his stomach. He toed off his shoes as he put his shirt over one of the two stools. Shirtless, he started towards Dean, dropping to his knees in front of him on the floor and kissing him deeply.

"I can't wrap my head around the fact that you're actually doing this," Dean said as he pulled away, rolling onto his back.

Castiel crawled over him and rolled them over so he was underneath Dean. "I would do anything for you, you know that. Especially if it makes you happy."

"Why, Cas?"

"Because I love you, even though you have weird food fantasies that truly disgust me," he said, prodding at his shoulder with his knuckles.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Why'd you take so long downstairs?"

"I had pie filling that I had to...do something with."

His eyes widened. "Did you--?"

"Yes, Dean," he said, exasperated.

Dean glanced at the clock on Cas's night stand for a second. He nodded to himself. He said through a smirk, sarcastically, "Romantic."

"Not exactly a New Year's kiss," Cas added.

"I like this version better. We should make it a tradition," he said before kissing Castiel hard on the mouth, not looking as he pulled Cas's belt out of his belt loops. A few moments later, Dean softly kissed his clothed thigh and murmured, "Happy New Year, Cas."

~~~***~~~

**January 24, 1925**

Dean sat in his bed, his back set against the wall behind him. Castiel was asleep between his legs, his head on Dean's chest. He ran his fingers through his lover's dark hair, smiling softly down at him.

Today was Dean's birthday. He was excited to spend the morning and early afternoon with Castiel, and then head over to his little brother's house for the evening.

Dean craned his head down and kissed the top of Cas's head, pressing his face into his soft hair. He trailed his fingers over his back, tracing his spine all the way down to his waist, then back up, over and over. He used his other hand to gently rake Cas's hair off his forehead with his fingers, pushing it back the best he could.

Castiel made a slight noise that resonated from deep in his throat. "What are you doing to me?" he asked, tiredly, his voice slurred from sleep. He didn't open his eyes, just pushed his face into Dean's chest a little more, tightening his arms around his waist.

"Why would you think I'm doing anything to you?" Dean asked, a small smile on his face.

"Perhaps I'm psychic."

Dean chuckled. "If you're psychic," he said, raising himself up onto his knees and moving towards Cas. He pressed his lips to his ear, "then you'd know everything I've ever wanted to do to you."

Cas took a slightly shaky breath. Dean ducked his head and kissed at his neck, and Cas tipped his head back, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted. "Fine, not psychic. I just know you better than you know yourself." He gasped as Dean fasted his lips to his neck, sucking a small section of skin between his teeth. "Y-you know, I think this should be the other way around."

Dean hummed against Cas's skin, "Hm?"

"I mean, it's your birthday, after all." Castiel tipped his head down, tilting his head to the side as he leaned forward and kissed him. He used his body to push Dean back down onto the bed so he was laying on his back.

"You little suck-up."

"In every sense of the word," he replied sweetly, moving so his knees were on either side of Dean's waist, straddling his lap.

Dean laughed, putting his hands on Cas's hips, tracing the shape of his hip bones with his thumbs. They kissed again, Dean's hands roaming his lover's body. He moved his head, kissing Cas's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too, you sap."

He scoffed. " _I'm_ the sap? Oh, you got another thing coming for ya, buddy."

"Oh my god, Dean, shut up!" he exclaimed.

He laughed again. "God, I love you," he said, craning his neck up and softly kissing the other man. Cas slid a hand into Dean's hair, melting into him.

\----

As Dean opened to the door to Sam's house, he launched into song, holding onto the door and leaning in. "'Life is not a highway strewn with flowers. Still, it holds a goodly share of bliss. When the sun gives way to April showers, here is the point you should never miss--!'" The song was one that annoyed Sam to the high heavens, so Dean sang it most chances he could.

"Be quiet!" Sam shouted from somewhere within the house. Dean laughed, giddy, closing the door behind him. "Kitchen!"

Dean walked down the hall to the kitchen, taking off his jacket. Sam and Madison were doing the dishes. "You just finished eating, didn't you?"

Madison nodded.

"You didn't want to include me in eating? I'm offended, you know that that's my favorite hobby!"

"No, Dean, your favorite hobby is sex."

"That's true." Dean smirked for a second, remembering New Year's. "But when you put the two together--"

"No, Sam, make him stop!" Madison shouted, covering her ears and putting her forehead on the counter.

"Part of me really wants to hear where you're going with this, the other is truly disgusted," Sam said, putting a hand on his wife's back.

Madison groaned as Dean carried on. "Recently, I've had adventures with cherry pie filling and--"

Madison groaned again, making it louder so she couldn't hear Dean. He laughed, leaning against the table and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay, that's enough for me, I'm shutting this down," Sam said. "I'm never going to look at you eating cherry pie the same again."

Dean and Madison both laughed. Dean got ahold of himself, asking, "So, what're we doing today?"

"We are going to that dancehall you like so much," Sam said.

His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth pulling up more. "What? You hate dancing! Mads here _literally_ has to _blackmail_ you to dance with her!" ( _Besides at their wedding, Sam was more than open to that. Their first dance had been adorable._ )

"It's your birthday, and you know I always give into something I hate doing for your birthday."

"Yeah, but this? This is at one of the top levels--like when you caved in and we went to that indoor shooting range a few years ago!"

"Dean, that's the biggest thing I'll ever do for you."

\----

Dean wanted Cas.

Dean was sitting at a table in the corner, alone, his jacket thrown over the back of the chair he was sitting in. He was drinking a glass of bourbon, one of the two alcohols that made him horny, according to Castiel. He wanted his lover beside him. Dean knew what he'd be telling him at that moment if he were there (" _you better keep your fucking hands to yourself"_ ), and it made him smile against the rim of his crystal glass. He wanted to have been able to bring Cas to Sam's with him. He wanted to be able to show him off and dance with him. It was the little things Dean wanted most, though--He wanted to be able to hold his hand in public, or do that subtle thing of reassurance where one purposefully brushes the back of their hand against their partner's or sets their hand in the other's thigh. He wanted to be able to lay his head on Cas's shoulder when they were out in public. He wanted to be able to brush his mouth over Cas's cheek as a small form of endearment, barely ever noticeable to others unless they were being stared at. The thing was, if Dean did do that, they would be stared at. Not in the way that bloomed with curiosity or just staring into space, but the way that screamed "freak" and "faggot" and brought beatings in the street and their dead bodies being spit upon.

"How come you're not dancing?" Sam's voice asked. Dean looked up to see him standing a few feet to his left, the table between them. Sam moved to sit at the chair between the table and the wall, beside Dean, as Dean replied.

"Got too hot; needed to cool down a little."

"If you need to cool down, Dean, you go outside. Not in a corner. Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, taking a sip of his amber-colored bourbon. He sighed, putting the glass on the wooden table. "A wise friend once told me bourbon makes me horny."

Sam snorted. "Really, now? Seems like they know you well. Who is this wise friend?"

Dean blinked. "I don't talk to them anymore."

Sam was silent for a few moments. "I know you, Dean. What's wrong?"

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"I'll pay you if you guess right."

"I don't need your dirty money," he said, sarcastically.

Dean chuckled. "Where's Mads?"

"Bathroom or something. Couldn't really hear her. She yelled at me to come over and talk to you."

"Hm." The two brothers stayed silent until Dean said, a few minutes later, "Hypothetical?"

"Sure," Sam said, taking Dean's glass. He took a sip of the amber alcohol, his face scrunching up slightly for a few seconds.

"Would you still love me if I was a pedophile?"

Sam choked. "D-Dean!"

"Would you?"

Sam gave him an astonished look. "I-I-I mean, yeah, I guess. I'd think you're a sick person and strongly suggest therapy, but you're my brother. I'd disown you, but you would never not be my brother."

"If I--?"

"Do not say rapist or anything along those lines," he sighed, heavily, blowing a lock of brown hair off his forehead.

"I was going to say murderer, but sure."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'd help you hide the body."

"But you could get in as much of trouble as me if we're both caught or seen."

"You go down, I go down farther."

Dean thought for a second. Surely, if Sam would love still love him if he was a pedophilic murderer, then he'd love him if he knew he was homosexual. Surely, right?

"Are we done with your stupid hypotheticals?"

"One more--what if I was having sex with my landlord for free rent?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Sam laughed, tipping his head back. He said, grinning, "I'm not answering that, you stupid bastard."

"Aw, Sammy, don't leave me hanging!"

"Yeah, I'd love you. Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Assfaces!" Madison declared as she came up to the table. Sam gave her a weird look as Dean laughed. She held three shots in her hands. She set them on the table, dropping down into the chair beside Sam, leaning against him and pressing a kiss to his cheek, pushing her face into the side of his. He laughed, putting his arm around her. "We've got whiskey."

"Oh, the other substance that apparently makes me horny," he said, grinning, reaching over and taking one of the shot glasses.

"What?" Madison asked.

"A wise friend once told him that bourbon and whiskey make him frisky," Sam said, quickly.

"Interesting."

"Scotch makes me depressed," he offered up. He downed the shot, knocking his head back with it. He set the glass back down onto the table in front of him, turning it upside down.

"I wonder what depressed Dean would have to say to us" she said, absently.

"Go get me a scotch and you can find out," he said.

"Don't," Sam said. "He's had enough."

"But Sammy--"

"If you say, 'it's my birthday,' I will sock you in the mouth, I swear to God."

Dean laughed, collapsing back in his chair.

He wished Cas was here.

Later on in the night, Dean was sitting on top of the wooden table, watching the people around him. Madison had managed to get Sam back out to dance with her, and she and Dean had even danced for a short time. Something in the crowd caught his eye. He zeroed in on the area, his eyes widening a little.

Castiel winked at him, grabbing the hand of the girl he was dancing with and pulling her towards him with a spin. She was suddenly pressed to his chest, his arm tight around her torso. He spun her back out, her hair flying around her, her skirt billowing and the heels of her shoes rising off the smooth floor.

Dean was almost astonished as he watched him. Cas was so sure of what he was doing as he spun this girl around him, twirling with her, picking her up. He didn't seem worried that he'd drop her. With every spin, Castiel locked eyes with Dean, every time the girl wouldn't have seen the silent interaction. The small looks made his heart pound. It made the hot air smother him, almost making it hard to breathe. It made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up at attention.

Cas's eyes said everything to him. He wanted what Dean wanted.

Throughout the next few hours, Castiel and Dean both found subtle ways to be near each other. Heading to the bar together just once or twice, leaning against the solid glossed maple just beside each other, their elbows almost touching; making eye-contact for just a split second from across the room; Cas walking through the crowd and the back of his hand _accidentally_ brushing Dean's as he passed; the two of them escaping to the bathroom sererately but close together, sneaking much-needed kisses and touches in a locked stall.

~~~***~~~

_We snuck around, being able to check into motels by saying we were cousins or something coming in for a nearby family reunion._

**February 14, 1925**

Dean woke up to his shoulder being shaken. He groaned, rolling onto his stomach and smothering his face in his pillow. ( _No hour is a decent hour to wake up._ )

"Dean, come on, it's Valentine's Day."

"Let me sleep," he whined into the pillow, his voice muffled.

"Deeeeaaaaannn!"

"Fuck you."

"Please?"

Dean laughed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Why are you so annoying in the morning?" He asked, looking Castiel in the eyes.

"I don't know who you think your boyfriend is--I'm annoying twenty-four/seven."

He chuckled, rolling back onto his hip and sitting up, the heel of his hand pushing into the mattress, his arm propping him up. He put his hand on Castiel's cheek and kissed him, softly. "I don't find you very annoying once I'm mentally awake."

"Meaning, after you've had coffee?"

"Yes, after coffee." He slid off the bed, the floor a biting cold against the soles of his bare feet. He almost immediately felt arms around his waist, pulling him back to bed. "Cas--!"

"Nooo, stay with me."

"You're also needy in the mornings, I presume?" Dean asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Twenty-four/seven," Cas said, putting his chin on the shoulder Dean was trying to look over.

"Aahhh, I see. So all your obnoxious traits are used constantly?"

"Exactly."

"How do I even stand to breathe beside you?"

"Because you love me." He kissed Dean's cheek, and Dean fought a smile, feeling at peace. He was happy. He had Sam, he had Mads, he had Cas--despite the fact that his mom was dead, he had everything he could've asked for. An amazing brother, a great sister-in-law, a hard-ass-but-is-really-just-a-softie father figure, two awesome best friends, and someone who loved him more than he loved anything else in the world.

And Dean loved them all back with everything he had in him.

The two spent the rest of the day in the apartment, basking in each other's company. It was the only thing they could do--they couldn't go out for dinner, they couldn't go out and do anything together without suspicion. During the day, they found themselves in comfortable silence, at times. Sometimes they found themselves lazily kissing, their feet tangled up in the blankets on Dean's bed, moving their bodies together and their hands wandering. They exchanged hushed "I love you"'s, pressing the words into each other's skin as the declaration left their lips. Sometimes they found themselves talking about useless things, changing the direction of the conversation on a whim. Dean told stories about his childhood with Sam, his first time meeting Madison, and more. Cas listened, not having a lot to say. He talked a little bit about the coffeehouse, even mentioned his childhood slightly.

Dean was surprised to learn about how strict his household was--work done immediately, chores directly after. Studying even if there wasn't homework. Cas said, "Mother wanted us all to have a good education. It made her look like a better mother, she thought. It made the family look good." Dean wasn't really surprised to hear about how Cas's siblings were competitive, having been raised the way they were. "Every one of them wanted to be the best, and that meant taking everyone else down, no matter what."

Once he had finished, Dean said, shaking his head, "That's no way to grow up."

Cas shrugged. "It's better than most. I mean, you grew up as your father's whipping boy."

"What?"

"They were used in early modern Europe. Say, if a prince needed to be punished, someone else--most likely a close friend of the prince--would take the punishment, because the prince couldn't because of his royal status."

"Why do you even know that?"

He shrugged again. "I studied."

Dean scoffed, shaking his head, smiling lightly. "How much more useless information is taking up space in your head?"

"Oh, a lot. So much," he said, nodding. "But, like I said, others grew up worst. I mean, sure, it's not illegal to hit your kids, but it usually does have a negative backlash, emotionally. I wasn't hit. Sure, maybe smacked with a ruler, but there's other people that grew up with violence seeping through the cracks of the wall separating their personal life from their public life."

"Even then, your siblings--"

"Aren't my siblings anymore."

"...What happened?"

Cas stayed silent, looking down where his hands lay limp in his lap. His bottom lip was stuck out slightly, a glare sharp in his gaze.

Dean sighed and moved closer to him. He put his hand on one of Cas's knees, squeezing slightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life," he whispered. Dean knew that he was being literal--by being together, they were entrusting each other with their lives.

"Are you afraid to tell me?" he asked, raising his hand and brushing his thumb over Cas's cheekbone. Cas closed his eyes, contently leaning his head into Dean's palm, melting into the touch.

"It's not that I'm afraid, it's just...I only let myself feel anything about it once a year. I don't like thinking about it."

Dean kissed the corner of his mouth, lightly. "I'll be right there beside you the whole day."

Cas nodded against Dean's hand. He put his hand over the one Dean had on his knee, pressing his palm to the back of Dean's hand, entwining their fingers together.

~~~***~~~

**March 8, 1925**

"Did you order?" Dean asked, breathlessly, skidding to a stop beside Sam at the table outside the coffeehouse.

"No," Sam said, his voice clipped short.

"Whoa. Coffee can wait. What's wrong?" he asked, pulling his chair out and sitting down, facing Sam with his arms crossed on the table in front of him.

"It's Maddie."

"What's going on?"

"We finally had a talk that we've been needing to have a for a while. About Nathan."

Dean nodded. "What about him?"

"She doesn't want to have kids anymore. She's so terrified that she's going to lose another child. I mean, I-I get it, I'm terrified about it, too, but--"

"Sam, you've wanted kids most of your life. You were like a little girl."

"I get what she's saying, I do," Sam said, not acknowledging what Dean said, "but she has to understand that what happened wasn't her fault. The umbilical cord got wrapped around his throat!"

"Does she know that?" Dean exclaimed, lightly. "That's uncontrollable!"

"She knows that, but she's just sick with worry that something like it will happen again, if she's to get pregnant--"

"Sam, Sam, Sam, stop talking."

He sighed, quickly leaning back in his chair.

"What all did you tell her, when you talked?"

"I told her that I'm scared, too, but what happened wasn't her fault, and that it wouldn't be likely to happen again."

Dean nodded, trying to think about how to help soothe both their minds. As he opened his mouth to speak, that familiar deep voice said, "I went ahead and brought out your regulars." Dean smiled up at Castiel as he set the two mugs in front of their respective drinkers. "And, I made a chocolate cake last night, so go ahead and eat. You look like you need the sugar." He set the slice of chocolate cake in front of Sam.

"I can't--I didn't--"

"It's on the house, don't worry. All of it."

Dean inwardly sighed. He'd be at least paying for the coffees later, he knew that much. As Sam looked down at the cake, Dean looked up at Cas, mouthing a ' _thank you_.' Cas gave him a soft smile, nodding as he mouthed, ' _you're paying_ ," before walking back inside.

Dean looked back at Sam, who was twisting the fork in his long fingers. "Ask her if she wants kids. If she says yes, tell her that nothing can take that feeling away; even fear."

"You think that would actually do something?" he asked, stabbing lightly at the brown cake.

"Hopefully. Stop playing with your cake. Are you going to eat it?"

"Do you want it?"

Dean shook his head, knowing he'd probably get some later. "The boss paid for it, be nice and eat it. I know for a fact that that guy is a genius when it comes to baking cake."

"How?"

The lie easily slid off his tongue. "I came in once and he was testing recipes, he made me try them."

Sam laughed, pulling the corner off with the prongs of his fork. He ate it, immediately nodding. He chewed for a few moments, swallowed, and said, "That's good."

"You have a smudge of frosting."

"Where?"

Dean reached across the table. When he was about to point at Sam's face, he ducked his hand down and scooped some of the chocolate frosting with his finger. Sam exclaimed, "Dean!" reaching across the table to smack him. Dean let out a loud, evil guffaw, pushing his chair back with his feet.

\----

Dean sat up on the bed as Castiel walked into the main connected area of the apartment, pulling his light coat off his shoulders. In a few weeks, he probably wouldn't need it, but it was still proper to wear a coat in front of strangers. As he put his coat over the back of the same chair he always did, he asked, "What was going on with Sam today? He seemed upset." He started to toe off his shoes, and Dean knew his next move would be to nudge them underneath the chair.

"Mads is scared to try to get pregnant again," Dean said.

Cas quickly bounded across the room, launching himself onto the bed. He landed beside Dean on his hip, one hand on the mattress on Dean's other side. "Is she worried about having another stillborn?" he asked, propping himself up with his elbow.

Dean nodded. "She's worried something would happen to it, if she ever gets pregnant again."

"What does Sam think about that?"

"He said that he's scared, too--"

"Obviously."

"--but that it's not something to completely end something over, I guess. He said that he wants kids, but doesn't want to force Madison into anything she's not ready for. He gets it, he's not rushing her--which is good--but he does want to know that she'd be willing to try, eventually."

Castiel nodded, gnawing at his bottom lip.

"I told him to ask her if she wanted kids, and if she said yes, tell her nothing can take that feeling away, even fear."

Cas was silent for a few seconds. "Then why haven't you told him yet?"

Dean shifted, uncomfortably, sitting up against the wall behind him a little more. "I--Cas, it's different."

"Clearly, and it also means that you haven't been listening to me."

"What?"

"Every holiday and other times--I've told you repeatedly that you should tell him. He wouldn't hurt you."

"Cas, I don't know that for sure," he whispered, running his fingertips over the arm Cas has tossed over his stomach.

"You've told me about the hypotheticals you always give him. Ask him. Ask him what he would do if you were homosexual--see how he reacts to the question, and see about his answer."

"Cas--"

"What?"

"Hypotheticals are just hypotheticals. That's why they're called that. They're not real."

"But Sam answers truthfully, as if they were real." He kissed Dean's bare shoulder. "Not now. But I recommend doing that sometime."

Dean sighed, turning and curling into Cas's torso. "I will. I'll give him the hypothetical."

Castiel nodded and kissed Dean's temple.

~~~***~~~

_Acting like we were best friends going out for a night on the town._

**May 2, 1925**

Dean shot up in bed in the morning, his eyes wide. He took a few needed breaths, the air scraping in his dry throat. His hand felt the bed beside him, and he was surprised to feel it cold and flat.

He turned his head, seeing that Castiel was gone. Coat vacant from the back of the chair that he always hanged it on, his shoes replaced by Dean's own beside the closet. There was a small note on the table, the paper sticking up from a fold.

Dean grumbled as he stood, the muscles in his knees shrieking at him to sit back down and go back to bed. The cold from the floor seeped into the soles of his feet, arching up through his calves and to his knees, making his legs even more stiff. He picked the small note up off the table once he was in reach, unfolding it to see Cas's messy scrawl.

**_I left in the night._ **   
**_It's Sam's birthday. Go have fun. Do something dangerous that I'd try to talk you out of._ **   
**_Wait, never mind, Sam would talk you out of it, too._ **   
**_\--Cas_ **

Dean smiled, refolding the note and letting it fall back onto the tabletop. He wished Cas had been here when he woke up, but he knew what Cas was thinking--Dean lollygagged when he's there with him, because he doesn't want to leave him.

But, he didn't need Castiel to tell him to have fun; he planned on it already.

\----

"Mads got you earlier, I get you now!" Dean exclaimed, grabbing Sam's wrist and dragging him out of his house. He heard Madison laughing behind them.

"Dean, that's not how it works--!"

"You wake up to her beside you every morning and fall asleep beside her every night--I can't steal you for a few hours?"

"No, it just means I have to deal with more of you today and tomorrow." Sam grumbled, but he let Dean drag him towards the taxi parked at the curb. "Can't we just do this tomorrow?"

"Our Sunday coffee dates are sacred! I guess this means your death. I'll arrange your funeral."

"Please don't."

"It'd be the best funeral ever planned."

"Knowing you, you'll make my ashes into tea bags and give them to anyone who ever messed with the two of us."

"You know my mind so well, Sammy. Now get it!" He shoved Sam into the taxi, quickly climbing in after him.

Sam situated himself in his seat, fixing his sleeves, and said, "You're so childish, for being almost thirty."

"One year, Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"You're old!"

"You're only four years behind, bitch!"

"Shut up!"

"Well, one of us has gray hair."

"...You're dead to me."

Dean laughed, completely leaning back against the back of his seat, his arms curling around his stomach.

"I'd rather have your hypotheticals than talking about my gray hair."

"What would you do if--"

"Dean, no!"

"--I were a prostitute?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "I-If you were a prostitute?"

"Yeah! I think I'd make a damn good prostitute!"

Sam said through his laughter, "If you were a prostitute, I'd take you in for bi-monthly checkups."

Dean guffawed. "If I were a robber?"

"I'd tell you that you could to a lot better."

"If I were a fairy?"

Sam thought for a second. "Like, wings, or--?"

"Homosexual. What would you do?"

"Dean, are you--?"

"No!" He forced a laugh to bubble from his throat, tossing an easy grin onto his face. He shoved at Sam's shoulder. "I've given you all these crazy hypotheticals, and it's _now_ that you take one seriously?"

"I mean, most of your hypotheticals are outlandish, this one is--"

"Sammy, do you think--?"

"Would you tell me if you were?" he asked, softly.

Something in Dean's heart wrenched. His chest suddenly felt tight, but he forced his voice to be even and light as he said, "Of course." He put on a mask of a grin. "What would you do?"

"I'd...Tell you that I'm not Dad," he said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't throw you out onto the street or anything extensive. I promise."

\----

Sam and Dean were silent as they climbed out of the taxi in front of an abandoned house. It was still the way they'd left it, besides an obvious growth in the grass length and such--the window was still bashed in, sharp shards sticking up from the trim. The siding was still dirty and unkept, a stray vine growing up the side and strangling the gas pipe.

After staring at the house for a few minutes, Dean sighed, sitting down on the sidewalk in front of it. He said, as Sam followed his example, "It's hard to believe it's been fifteen years."

Sam nodded, looking down at his hands in his lap, his legs crossed. "I miss her."

Dean nodded, staying silent.

"Honestly, I kind of miss Dad, too."

Dean scoffed. "How could you miss that bastard?" He absently ran his hand over his left elbow, that was popped out of socket and broken almost seventeen years before.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "It's just--he was our dad, you know? I miss when we were both toddlers--you were barely six or seven--and he'd come home from work and just scoop us both up in his arms."

He nodded, remembering. It was when John would smile and laugh. He'd get on the floor and play with his kids how they begged him to. He'd get up at five in the morning every day and come home at six in the evening, and he'd act like he wasn't exhausted, kiss his wife while his sons gagged from where they were stuck in his arms, trying to wriggle their way free to get away from it. He'd sneak his sons sweets behind his wife's back ( _the addiction to pie in the making_ ) and tell her that a few pieces of the cobbler she had made was missing because he ate it. Then, all of a sudden, when Dean was ten and Sam was six, everything changed its course. John soon depended on alcohol with everything he had in him. He quit work, so Dean had to work harder for the family--Dean refused to let Sammy work when he was only six, though it wasn't illegal. He squashed every hope and dream the two brothers had, making Dean have to practically build Sam up from the ground when they managed to get away. Mary died when Dean was fourteen, John having cornered her on the tile floor of the kitchen, him standing above her. He had hit items off the counter over her, and a heavy appliance had fallen down on her head. Concussion, Dean remembered. Internal bleeding. Too late. Dean woke his little brother up in the middle of the night a year later, telling him that they were running away. They found refuge a few towns over in Lawrenceville, where the two set up lives for themselves--Dean got a few jobs, having been fired over and over, but later having a steady job in a bar with one of his best friends, and Sam enrolled into the middle school. At the community college years later, he met Madison and fell in love with her. They heard a few years ago, from a newspaper that Sam brought to their Sunday coffee date to show Dean, that John Winchester had died at the hands of his best friend. Alcohol. Choked on his own vomit in bed.

"It--Dean, it was just simple, and I miss it."

He nodded again, thinking the same thing. ( _You have no idea, Sammy._ )

"We were little and didn't have a care in the world," Sam said, quietly. "We didn't have to pay rent or taxes--"

"I hate taxes--"

"--or buy a house or, just...anything. All we had to do was be innocent and play and be cute."

"I did better at all that than you did."

"That is a lie and you know it."

"Nuh-uh! I had my charms as a toddler, too, you know. Little old women would give me lollipops and gummies."

Sam laughed.

"You were an ugly baby."

"Hey!"

"I took care of you, I know your ugly sides!"

"I was a cute baby," Sam said, pouting.

"If you believe it enough, then it's obviously true," he said, sarcastically. Sam scoffed, reaching over and roughly shoving his arm. The pair quickly settled down, going back to staring at their childhood home in comfortable silence.

~~~***~~~

**May 19, 1925**

Dean groaned loudly once he closed the door to the apartment. "I hate vehicles! I ran to the store, it was supposed to be quick, got stuck in traffic because of an accident. eventually I just got out of the taxi and walked."

"Interesting," Castiel said, from inside. His voice was a sob, shaking and weak and husky.

Dean was surprised to hear how raw his voice was. He quickly darted into the main room, seeing Castiel sitting crossed-legged on the bed, hugging a pillow to his torso, tears staining his cheeks. He quickly ran over, taking Cas's face in his hands. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"De-ean, I'm f-fi-ine--" Cas started, his voice trembling, tears sliding down his face. He started to reach up to push Dean's hands away, but Dean didn't allow it, pushing Cas's hands back down.

"Castiel."

Another sob ripped from Cas's throat at the name. "I wa-asn't good enough for them," he cried, leaning into Dean's torso, his head on his ribcage.

Dean ran his fingers through Cas's dark hair as he said, sternly, sitting down beside him so their sides were pressed together, "Cas, you're good enough for anyone! Who told you that?"

Cas sniffled, starting to push Dean away. Dean latched onto Cas's collar with tight fists, pulling him into a tight hug, Cas's shoulder tucked under his arm. The dark haired man suddenly burst into body-racking sobs, shaking so hard that Dean could swear he was making the building tremble.

Dean kissed Cas's forehead, softly pressing his lips to his hairline. He ran his hand through his dark hair, combing the strands back from his face, off his forehead. "Cas, can you tell me?"

"What, Dean?" Castiel snapped, loudly, shoving himself away from Dean, standing up from the bed. As he went on, he began to angrily pace, his skin flushed red, his eyes rimmed in it and puffy. "You want to know all the shit in my life? You want to know how Father thought I was a fucking fag, even when I was a toddler, and would practically shove a stick up my ass for it? You want to know how my brothers made my life miserable, just because they wanted to be seen as the best in my parent's eyes and that meant taking everyone else around them down?"

At Castiel's burst of anger, Dean immediately realized that this is what he'd been talking about on Valentine's Day. That one day a year where he let himself feel something over his family. He immediately stood up. "Cas, I--"

"No, Dean, it's idiotic!" he exclaimed, his voice pitched the high way it did when he got upset with himself. "It's so stupid and I should've known better than to come here today. I thought I was going to be stable--"

"Castiel," Dean said, sternly, his voice clipped with seriousness. Cas's eyes widened, his mouth falling open--Dean never called him Castiel. It was always Cas. He realized what was said this time. Dean reached forward, taking his partner's trembling hands, pulling him closer. "I want to hear about all of it. I want to know what made you the amazing man you are today," he said, softly, releasing one of Cas's hands and putting his own on his tear-stained cheek. Cas bowed his head a little, pressing his lips in a tight line, his eyes squeezing shut. "I want to be right there beside you today--and next year, and all the years after because that's what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to be there for you, right?"

Castiel nodded weakly, a broken sound coming from his throat. He squeezed Dean's hand, where they were limply connected, entwined, between the two of them.

Dean smiled, wiping away fresh tears with his thumb. "I care, Cas. I love you. When your family decided that you weren't good enough, for whatever reason, they didn't realize they were going to miss out on someone so fucking amazing--overwhelmingly sweet and selfless and so damn persuasive--"

Cas lurched forward a little, but he was caught in Dean's arms before he could catch himself. Dean slowly backed up, pulling Cas along with him, and soon Dean was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, Cas splayed out between his legs. He softly cooed in his ear, alternating between rubbing his back, combing his fingers through his hair, peppering kisses onto his face and shoulders, pressing away the salty tears. He knew he couldn't heal whatever Castiel's family did to him, but Dean could help him through it the best he could.

Cas sighed out against Dean's chest, trying to get a wrangle on his sobs, now crying softly against Dean's chest. "I-I-I have a photo."

"A photo? Of who?" he asked, softly, rubbing designs all up and down Cas's back, pressing down in the places that made him feel something--where it wasn't just a touch, where it was more.

"My f-family. I was sixteen. I-I don't remember what it was for, I th--," his throat caught, "think it was the picture Mother always wanted whenever we moved, standing in front of the new house."

"Where is it?" Dean asked, somehow making his voice softer, kissing the top of his head, the dark hair lightly tickling his nose.

Castiel pulled away from Dean, rolling across the bed a little. He opened the drawer the small nightstand had, pulling out a small book. Dean had seen it before, had seen Cas jotting down in it every morning and night, but he never once thought about opening it himself. It was Cas's, and it wasn't his to see unless Cas wanted him to.

Cas climbed back over the bed, flipping to the center of the notebook. He laid back down, his back against Dean's chest. The center page was a divider, shiny and waxy, having a little pocket in it. Cas pulled out a worn, multiple-times-creased photo in his hand. He unfolded it so it showed the four sections the worn-out crease made, but Dean focused on the picture.

It was in front of a big house, everyone standing close, looking happy. It was dark, so Dean couldn't see which one was Cas, but he could decipher about seven people, he was almost sure?

"Who is everyone?" Dean asked, putting his hand over the one of Cas's that was holding the small pocket photo.

Cas took a deep breath before saying their names, pointing them out on the picture, "Father, on the right. Beside him is Michael. Mom on the left, Luke and Gabriel beside her. Me and my little brother, Sammandriel, are in the middle."

"Dude, what's with the names?"

"They're respectable, apparently...all named after angels. Luke is short for Lucifer."

Dean scoffed. "Go on, sorry."

"The only ones I got along with were Sammandriel and Gabriel. We didn't care about being the best, we didn't try very hard, but we all did very well with schooling and such. Sammandriel and I were used to being the youngest--Gabriel was the second oldest--and Michael and Luke tended to use our age difference against the two of us. They tried to mess with Gabriel occasionally, but he held his own and was able to help stand up for us when our parents weren't there. They both wanted to be the best. Michael was Mother's favorite. 'Michael is my golden child,' Mother said, that apparently _any_ parent would kill for."

"No one can be _that_ good," Dean said, doubtingly.

Castiel shrugged, letting himself drop down into silence. "Luke was father's favorite."

"...Why do you call them Mother and Father?"

"Wasn't allowed to call them anything but," he said, softly. "Even in the 'privacy' of family, we had to always be dressed crisp and ready to impress, just in case anyone looked through the window. We had to be polite and proper and..." He sighed. "That's why I'm not proper--or, at least, I try not to be. That's why I flirted with you, even though I knew I shouldn't have. It was a completely impolite, stupid thing to do--"

"Cas?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you weren't flirting, because flirting was supposed to be subtle," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin.

After a few seconds, Cas laughed. The sound was music to Dean's ears, making his grin widen.

~~~***~~~

 _I remember seeing him dance for the first time._ _It was on my birthday, 1925, when you caved and you and Mads took me to that dance hall._

**June 13, 1925**

"Dean--" he said, a warning in his voice.

"Come on, it'd be fun!"

"No."

"It's our anniversary tomorrow and you have to work!"

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "There's no use in celebrating an anniversary if it's the day before the said anniversary!"

"If only you'd take the day off!"

"Dean, I can't--after the stupid flour incident, you know I haven't been very lenient. I have to stay in business."

Dean sighed, collapsing back onto the bed. When he landed, the springs in the mattresses bounced him back up a little.

Cas made a quiet sound and Dean felt the bed dip beside him and Cas's fingers walk up his stomach, towards his chest. "I'm sorry. I know anniversaries mean a lot to you--"

"My dad _never_ did anything for my mom on their anniversary. That day every year, Mom always told me, 'You make your girl happy one day, okay? Promise me you'll do something nice on your anniversary every year. Flowers, chocolates, just something sweet and out of the ordinary, that shows you care.' Anniversaries do mean something. To some they don't, but to some they do. Because of my mom and dad, they mean something to me--and I'm sorry if you can't see it, but with us, who we are, how long we're together actually means something. Each day is like another win, you know? The fact that one--or both--of us could just be stripped away from each other is so daunting and terrifying and I just want to make each day count. Including anniversaries."

Cas was silent for a few seconds, not sure what to say. "I--Dean--"

"Look, Cas, I get it. You don't want to. It's fine. Just...It's fine."

"She said something out of the ordinary, right? Meaning something you haven't done or don't do often?"

Dean nodded, silently, turning his head to look up at Cas. A soft smirk came to Cas's lips, which had Dean instantly worrying. "Cas, what--?"

"So, let's do something different!" he declared, set on what he wanted as he got up off the bed. He held his hands out to Dean, who took them and helped Cas pull him up.

"Cas, I'm scared," he said, his voice even and joking, as Cas started to pull him towards the kitchen. The other man didn't reply, pulling Dean around the wall, past the front door of the apartment, and to the bathroom.

"Dean, go along with it?"

"I--Cas, I'm not sure what you're doing."

"It's just a bath, okay? It's--We've never done that together. Last I checked, you had wine in your cupboard?"

"No, Cas, we are not drinking wine. Get the scotch."

Cas smiled, not hearing a refusal of the idea. "Okay." He slid past Dean, stopping to press a kiss to his forehead. "Draw it while I'm gone, okay? I'll be back in a minute."

Dean nodded and Cas slipped out of the modest bathroom. Dean sighed, shaking out his arms and bouncing on his heels. He pulled his short-sleeved undershirt up over his head, laying it over the toilet, and tugged off his trousers. He leaned down next to the porcelain bathtub ( _it had come with the apartment, surprisingly_ ), taking off his socks. He turned one of the faucets on. One was hot, one was cold. He knew which was which, but he had no idea what temperature Cas wanted. Hotter or colder? As he was overthinking that, he didn't notice Castiel coming back in behind him, laying down two candles and a lighter on the sink and setting the scotch and two glasses silently on the floor beside the tub. He didn't jump when Cas's hands smoothed over his shoulders, moving down over his chest, but his breath did hitch in his throat.

"I picked the best one in your cupboard."

"How many do I have?" he asked, his voice coming out as a light hum, his head tipping back against Cas's shoulder at the feeling of his hands on him. It was something that Dean hadn't been used to before meeting Cas--completely melting at just a light, gentle touch, or even the sound of someone's voice.

"Four," he said with a deep chuckle, kissing the crook of Dean's neck. "Alcoholic. You, sir, are ready to get tanked whenever you please."

Dean laughed, leaning back against Cas's warm chest. "I forget I have it. It gets pushed back far into the cabinet--"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure," he teased, his voice light and sweet as honey. He kissed behind Dean's ear before standing up, leaning down over Dean's shoulder to feel the water.

"I didn't know if--"

"Dean, its fine. Stop overthinking, sweetheart."

Dean rolled his eyes at the name, but a small smile carved its way onto his lips. He looked over his shoulder at Cas as he walked away a little, and he saw the candles on the sink. "Cas, really?"

"It adds _scene,_ Dean Winchester!" he exclaimed, trying to act angry though there was a smile on his face. Dean sighed, waving his hand to Cas to show he could do what he wanted. Cas smiled, lighting the two candles and placing them in different spots. He flipped off the light, leaving them in soft golden candlelight that dyed Cas's chest a pale, honey yellow, arching shadows into the curves of the muscle.

Soon after, they were both in the water, Dean laying back against Cas's chest, his head laying back on his shoulder. Cas held Dean loosely in his arm, running the backs of his thumbs up and down Dean's sides, pressing invisible marks into the skin on his neck and shoulders with his lips.

"Definitely different," Dean said after a little bit, his voice husky with content.

"A good different?"

"Definitely," he said, a smile coming to his lips. As Cas raised his head to look at him, he said, "We're doing this again." Cas laughed lightly, kissing his cheek.

"Whatever you want, Dean, and I'll comply."

~~~***~~~

**November 26, 1925**

"No, Dean! I am not intruding on your family on _Thanksgiving_ \--no, rephrase! You will _not_ tell your family about me on _Thanksgiving_!"

"You lied to me last year; you have no one to go to!" hexclaimed.

"I open the coffeeshop for other people like me who have no one to go to, and give homeless free food. Hannah helps me out on Thanksgiving and Christmas--her brother and parents died years ago."

"No, Cas, please! You've been wanting me to tell him!"

"Not on Thanksgiving!" he exclaimed, his voice pitching. He then sighed, "For the chance that it does go wrong, not a family holiday, Dean. And I don't think, either way, that they'd be quite okay with you bringing somebody without their permission, or even a warning."

Dean sighed, his shoulders wilting, defeatedly. "Cas, I--"

"Sh, sh, sh. I know."

"I want him to know so bad," he said, his voice breaking.

"But you're scared."

"Obviously, I'm scared!" he exclaimed, hysterically. "I just--Cas--"

"What?"

"It's a family holiday. You're family to me--more than family, really. You're the love of my life," he said, his voice wilting at the end of his statement. "Sam and Mads get to be happy and together, but we don't? How does that make sense?"

"Dean, calm down. You can't go to Sam's in a wreck," Cas said, softly, taking a few steps forward and enveloping Dean in his arms, holding him against his front. "Think of it like this--you don't get to see Sam and Madison every day. Most days, really. You see me most days--waking up with drool on the pillow--" Dean chuckled--"and completely out of it. You basically nurse me back to health every morning, despite not being a morning person yourself. You deal with me practically living with you every day, invading the space of your apartment. You deal with all my horrible habits--"

"Like calling that chair as your own with your jacket every day?" Dean asked, sarcastically, giving him a quizzical look.

Cas nodded, scoffing. "Yes, exactly like me and the chair. See, me and the chair have a more profound bond--"

Dean barked out a laugh, pulling out of Cas's arms. "I feel so hurt," he said, his voice quivering from humor. "Abandoned."

"Well, if you're feeling abandoned, don't be alone. Go to Sam's. You did say you had to get there earlier, didn't you?"

Dean nodded, quickly pulling on his boots and grabbing his jacket. Before he left, he wrapped his arms around Cas's neck, pulling him in for a hard kiss.

\----

"'Life is not a highway strewn with flowers. Still, it holds a goodly share of bliss. When the sun gives way to April showe--!'"

"Dean, stop it with that goddamn song!" Sam shouted. Dean laughed, kicking the door shut behind him as Emily came out of the living room to greet him.

"Hello, Dean. How have you been doing?" she asked, her voice high and sweet and feminine.

"I've been fine, Emily," he said, quickly dodging her and darting to the kitchen. He exhaled heavily when he made it in, grabbing Sam's shoulder. He hissed in his little brother's ear, "You didn't tell me they'd be here this early?"

"They decided to surprise us," Sam said, softly, under his breath so only Dean could hear. "We didn't know."

"Dean!" Madison exclaimed and Dean straightened, giving her an easy smile. "Sweet potatoes, mash 'em!"

"Ooh, I get all tingly when you take control like that, Mads--"

Dean cut off at the glare from Madison's father. He gave Arthur an apologetic, sheepish smile before helping Madison with whatever she needed him to do. Eventually, they had everything made and placed on the table, steam elegantly curling off the hot food. Sam having gotten Beth and Emily from the living room, everyone sat down at the table. Beth and Arthur insisted on praying, and Dean respectfully dipped his head along with everyone else.

"So, Dean, do you have a nice girlfriend yet?" Beth asked, her voice almost sickly, but still as sweet as ever.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Every time you see me, I get asked that."

"Well, do you?" Arthur asked.

He shook his head. "See, there's this little thing that keeps me from that. Perhaps the fact I like men," he said. When silence met him, he looked up to see Arthur and Beth looking at him in horror, Emily in disgust.

As he opened his mouth to say something, he was hit with Emily shouting at him, "You've been leading me on?"

"What?" he exclaimed.

"All these years, you've been leading me on!"

"Sweetheart, I--I was kidding, with the liking guys thing--"

"Oh, thank God!" Arthur hollered, leaning back in his chair, his hand over his heart. As he mumbled incessantly under his breath, Beth went on.

"I was about to say, we can't have a faggot in the family!" she chortled. "Thank Heaven you were pulling our strings!"

Dean nodded, silently exhaling heavily through his mouth. He didn't see Sam giving him a horribly sad look from beside him.

"That doesn't change the fact that you've been leading me on!"

"Emily, I haven't been leading you on!" he exclaimed.

"For years, Dean!" she screeched. Dean sighed, heavily, putting his face in his hands. "For years, you've been stringing me along, with the hope that you'd feel the same way--"

"Is that why you always pester me with those questions?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, dear God."

"You haven't had a girlfriend since you met me, what am I supposed to think?"

"Oh, _dear God!_ "

As Emily went on screaming at him, Dean looked at Sam, mouthing, " _I'm sorry_ ," to him. Sam shook his head, mouthing, " _Go_." Dean nodded, getting up from his chair, putting his clean, empty plate on the counter.

The actions made Emily cut off, stuttering, "W-what are you doing?"

"Leaving," he said, matter-of-factly. He passed behind Madison, giving her a quick hug, squeezing Sam's shoulder as he passed him. He walked out of the kitchen, Emily screaming after him.

\----

When Dean made it back to the apartment, he saw Cas in the kitchen, glaring at the stove. Dean narrowed his eyes, asking, "Why are you home?"

Cas barely turned his head to look at him, giving him a once-over. He looked back at the stove, saying, "I should be asking you the same thing. Last year you came back really late. It's not even five thirty yet."

"And I know for a fact that you close the coffeehouse late most Thursdays, at least after seven. What's wrong? Did something happen?" Dean asked, walking towards him. He put his hand on the side of Cas's face that was facing away from him, and a sharp sound of pain came from his mouth. Dean quickly moved in front of Cas before the other man could move away, gasping when he saw the black-blue-purple welt on his cheek, skin split and freshly scabbed over. "Whoa, what the hell happened?"

"I--I guess they knew I'm a--I don't know--Dean, I don't know how they knew--!"

"Sh, Cas. Baby, just tell me."

"Two guys came in, and they tried taunting me first. When I ignored them, they tried pulling me out from behind the counter. They were just laying into me--I-I think I have spit in my hair--and then I was being pushed outside."

"Cas--?"

"The only reason I made it out was because of Charlie," he said, quickly. "She was walking but then she saw what was happening and ran full speed at me, screaming at the guys to stop beating her husband. She put her arms around me to keep them from hitting me and they stopped, not wanting to hurt her."

"Thank God!" Dean exclaimed. "Cas, if she wasn't there--"

"I know. After that, Hannah told me to head out. Just leave the area. So Charlie and I came here. She helped me get fixed up. She left about ten minutes ago."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, putting his head on his shoulder. Cas immediately took Dean into his embrace, too, both of them silent as they thanked whatever was out there that they were still together.

~~~***~~~

_He was like a star, swinging this girl around him, twirling her, picking her up and throwing her around, practically spinning her like a top._

**December 25, 1925**

Today, Dean was happy--Cas woke him up with peppermint melted into hot chocolate, coaxing him out of bed and into the shower with it. He managed to get Dean ready for the day with it, along with using soft, motivational kisses. As he walked to Sam's house, he was drinking the minty hot chocolate from the blue mug Cas had put it in, a light breeze kissing his cheeks as he walked. He didn't knock on Sam's door when he got there--he never did--before walking in. "Hello?" he called into the house.

"Living room!" Sam called back, Madison quickly running out of the archway between the hall and the living room. She squealed when she saw Dean, running at him with a hug. He barely had time to set down his mug, in hopes of not losing what little he had left, before Madison barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tight.

When she jumped away from him, she asked, "What are you drinking?"

He picked the mug back up as he answered, "Peppermint melted into hot chocolate. Heavenly, I tell you."

She grabbed the mug from his hand, making him protest, taking a sip from it. Her eyes lit up and she quickly backed away from Dean. "This is mine now." She darted into the living room, Dean behind her, holding the mug steady with two hands.

"Who's mug is that?" Sam asked, smiling lightly.

"Mine," Dean said, as Madison took another drink from it. "She adopted it as her own."

"Mint melted into hot chocolate," she said, smiling happily at Sam.

"Ah, okay. That actually sounds really good," he said.

"It is!" the two exclaimed. Dean let himself fall into a chair, his legs over the arm of it.

"My parents said they were going to leave at six thirty, so they'd get here at nine."

"So, soon," Dean concluded, shifting slightly in the chair.

"Yes," she said, dropping down onto the couch beside Sam, curling up under his arm. "Dean, I tried to get Emily not to come, but she was relentless."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. She can sit on my lap and call me Santa, for all I care."

Madison choked on the mint hot chocolate, Sam tipping his head back as he loudly guffawed. "DEAN!" Madison exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Dean laughed. As far as he cared, he was walking ( _or rather, sitting_ ) on clouds right then; the morning with Castiel put him into an exceptionally good mood--Madison had wanted him to spend the night, to make Christmas morning more authentic, but Dean somehow managed to get out of it, to spend the morning with Cas. He knew Cas didn't have anywhere to go, that he'd probably be alone in the apartment all day because nothing was open Christmas day, so he tried to procrastinate as long as he could, to spend more time with him. Eventually Cas forced him to leave, saying that he had to go to his brother. He had given him another mug full of the mint hot cocoa, Dean gave him a kiss, and then he was off.

He didn't care about Emily today.

When the door was knocked on, Dean stayed splayed out in his chair, his head hanging back limply. Madison jumped up from the couch, running to the door. Sam stood up, quickly walking over to Dean, asking, "Hey, man, are you okay?"

Dean nodded as the door opened and he heard Arthur and Beth bubbling with joy at Madison, hugging her and greeting her with laughs and smiles. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look...I don't know, tired. Did you sleep okay?"

"Sammy, I dreamed of elves doing The Charleston and candy canes waltzing. I slept okay."

"That sounds terrifying!"

"Oh, I know, tell me about it!" he exclaimed, sarcastically. "I'm the one who had the dream!"

"Hello, Sam!" Beth exclaimed, walking into the room.

Sam instantly showered her with one of his award-winning smiles, walking up to her and giving her a hug as he said, "Hey, Beth, how've you been?"

"I've been just jake!" She smiled, looking up at him. She turned her head to look at Dean, giving him a smile. "Well, you look comfortable."

"Hey, Bethy-Ann," he said, smiling. Her full name was Bethany, but she always insisted that they must call her Beth.

She quickly lowered her voice, saying, "Arthur and I talked to Emily on the way here. She won't talk to you unless she has to."

"What a relief," he said, his smile softening.

She nodded as Arthur, Emily, and Madison came into the room, Madison smiling ear-to-ear. "Come on, let's get into it! Dean, sit up!"

He sighed, pushing himself up into a more seated position, though he kept his legs over the side of the chair. He raised his eyebrows at her as she looked at him, giving her a "What did I do?" look. She glared at him, and he smiled sheepishly, shrugging, swinging his legs off the arm of the chair so his feet were now on the floor in front of him.

\----

The second he closed the door of his apartment, Castiel was on him, kissing him hungrily and open-mouthed, pushing him against the back of the door, tugging Dean's jacket off of his shoulders and mindlessly tossing it away. His tongue flicked into Dean's mouth, and Dean got over his slight shock and kissed back just as hard.

"Not that I don't really like this greeting," Dean said, already breathless, through the kisses that were built up of clashing teeth and tongue, fleshy lower lips getting in the way of practically devouring each other, "but what brings this on?"

"I just really missed you," he said, his voice deep and husky, before dropping his head and kissing at Dean's throat. Dean sighed in content, his head tipping back against the door, his eyes closing.

 


	3. 1926

_No hesitation in his steps or movements, just letting the music flow through him._

**January 23, 1926**

"Sundays are yours and Sam's day--besides, I have to work tomorrow."

"Can't you just take the day off?" Dean asked.

"You know I can't, Dean. I was already at risk of going out of business because of the stupid flour bomb; and the recent attack didn't make it any better."

At the mention of it, Dean felt instant anger rush through his body. His eyes located the scar on Castiel's cheekbone, and he remembered the welt that it had once been.

At recognizing what Dean was doing, Cas moved forward and put his hand on Dean's cheek, using the heel of his hand to turn Dean's face slightly to the side. Dean's dark, gem-like green eyes flicked to Cas's as he said, "Stop looking at it. What happened happened, we couldn't--and still can't--do anything about it. Okay?"

Dean nodded, numbly. "It pisses me the hell off that they felt the need to fucking drag you over your own counter--"

"Dean. Dean," he said, softly. "I'm fine. But, anyways, what do you want to do? We can go dancing, just go around and walk--"

"Dancing sounds fun. It's been a little bit," Dean said, now smiling.

"I really want a good Old Fashioned," he said with a sly smile, a memory twinkling in his sparkling blue eyes. Dean smiled--the memory of the two meeting, both of them having the same drink.

\----

Dean gingerly sipped his drink, waiting for Castiel to come back from the bar. He and Cas both had their lie ready on their tongues--they were cousins. The brown-gold alcohol felt smooth as it slipped down his throat, the ice and orange rind a familiar bump against his upper lip and occasionally his teeth, the cherry--once again--pinned underneath the frozen, crystal-like cube.

He almost jumped when Cas dropped down in the seat catty-corner from him, slamming his glass down onto the wooden table.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, sitting up so he wasn't leaning against the back of the chair. He leaned his elbows on the table, his hand slack and like as he held his glass by the pads of his fingers just below the rounded rim, his palm shadowing over it.

"Tripped," he said, his tone showing that he was embarrassed about it.

Dean tsk'd, shaking his head. "Cas, you clumsy bastard." He took another drink from his glass.

"Hey, be thankful I'm clumsy," he snapped, but Dean could tell it was all in good-nature.

"Why? You trip over air and knock things over all the time."

"Because if I wasn't," he lowered his voice, "I wouldn't have fallen for you."

Dean gave him a silent, blank look for a few seconds. Castiel looked smug, proud of himself. Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair again. "Touché."

"I dance better than you, though."

Dean laughed, his eyebrows raising. "Oh, really? Do you, now?"

Castiel nodded, sipping his illegal drink. He didn't say anything, just let his cherry fall into his mouth. Dean barely kept himself from kissing him as his mouth started to move, lips fastened shut.

"We've gotta go to one of those drag bars one day."

Cas snorted, pursing his lips together tightly. He put his fist over his mouth, his eyes closed and shoulders shaking.

"What?" he exclaimed, spreading his arms and looking at Cas with wide eyes.

Castiel pondered the thought, pulling the tied cherry stems out of his mouth. "I mean, we can. If we can find one."

"I know people," Dean said, taking another drink from his glass.

The two spent the night sitting at the table, talking about random things. They each went though a few drinks, Cas begging Dean not to get straight bourbon, whiskey, or scotch. Dean just rolled his eyes and got a beer, bringing one back for Cas.

Once he got back to the table, Castiel was gone, chair tipped over onto the floor. He set the glass bottles down, breath hitching as an arm snaked around his throat.

"Where's your little fag, you're wondering?"

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes--though, on the inside, his chest was tight and his heart was hammering. "I bet you don't care that we're really cousins."

"Liar," he growled, his arm tightening around Dean's throat. "R.C.'s turning him inside out."

Dean wrapped his hands around the man's arm, bucking forward hard enough to throw the man over his shoulder. He splayed out on the table, and Dean sprinted away, not caring that he was making people fall over. He was suddenly out on the street, running blindly down the dark, muddy alleyway. 

 _Arrested. Testing. Death. Arrested. Testing. Death._  
 _Arrestedtestingdeatharrested_ _tes_ _tingdeath_ _arrestedtestingdeatharrestedtestin_ _gd_ _eath  
_ _arrestedtestingdeatharrestedtestingdeath_ _arrestedtes_ \--

"CAS!"

~~~***~~~

**January 24, 1926**

Dean awoke with a pounding headache, groaning into his pillow as he stiffly pushed himself up, raising his head. He was laying on his stomach on Sam's couch.

"You seemed really shaken yesterday," Sam's voice said. Dean winced, flinching.

"Not so loud!"

He scoffed, setting a coffee down onto the coffee table less than a foot away from him. "You were drinking, I guess?"

Dean groaned, rolling onto his side and sitting up the rest of the way. "I didn't drink a lot, I promise. I have no--fucking shit!"

Sam's eyes widened and he jumped back as Dean jumped up, Dean crumbling back down as he hit his knee on the coffee table. They both shouted, Sam darting forward to steady Dean's mug of steaming coffee and to push the table back down. "Dean, what the hell!"

"What happened?" Madison shouted, jumping into the room, brandishing one of the larger knives from the wooden block in the kitchen.

"Maddie, put the knife down!" Sam exclaimed. He looked back at Dean, whose eyes were wide. "Dean?"

 _(Blood. Oh my god, there was so much blood_ \--)

"Dean?"

He snapped his head up, pushing his emotions from his face. "Hm?"

"Coffee?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

His lips parted in realization and be looked at the coffeetable, where Sam had reset his mug. "Oh! Oh, yeah, thanks!" He picked up the mug, giving Sam a second-long plaster grin, and taking a drink of the hot brown liquid.

The only thing he could think was if Cas was okay.

Madison walked over to him, coming back into the room from putting the knife back in the kitchen. She hugged him, pressing a sisterly kiss to the top of his head. "Happy birthday, Dean."

\----

Sam only let Dean leave when Dean had to go get ready for work. After their goodbyes and happy birthdays, Dean walked until he found a taxi that drove him the rest of the way home. When he walked in and didn't see Cas, his bottom lip trembled. He bit down on it, glancing up at the ceiling. He had no idea where Cas was--all he knew was that Cas didn't go home, because the man wasn't an idiot. The only reason Dean had gone to Sam was because he had managed to shake the guy off his trail, and Sam was the closest person to where Dean was. He knew his way to Sam's from there.

Dean walked to work, stopping at the coffeehouse for a hot second. Hannah nodded to him--as far as she knew, he and Cas were close friends-- and all of a sudden he was running up to Cas's apartment. He wasn't there, the bed was made, everything spotless--just the way Cas liked. An upset sound came from Dean's throat and he doubled over, his elbows on his knees, in what seemed to be grief, a weight settling on his shoulders and making him crumble. Tears weighed on his eyelashes, and he blinked repeatedly so he could see. He dropped down to his knees beside Cas's bed, his elbows on the mattress. He looked up, not even knowing what he was doing.

"Mama," he said, his voice catching in his throat and breaking. He cleared his tight throat, fighting to breathe properly. "Mom, if everything you believed in is true, then you're watching over me. I really hope you don't hate who-who I am, I can't...I c-can't help it." A few tears streamed down his face, and he sniffled. He felt weak, exposed, though no one was there to see him. "But you love m-me, yo-ou-you know? And, plea...please, if you're hearing me and you do still love me despite _everything_ ," he paused as his voice broke from emphasis and emotion, taking a deep breath, "make sure he's okay. He has to be okay. Mom, please, for the sake of me being your son, just make sure he's safe."

\----

"Brother, you look beat!" Benny said as Dean walked past him, going through behind the bar to get to the kitchen. Benny followed on his heels as Dean slammed into the kitchen, startling the other chef.

"The garlic goes in the front because it's actually used, so get your stupid sugar out!" he shouted, stomping past the wide-eyed kid. "Practically nothing here is sweet, and what is, is barely ever ordered!" He slammed the door leading to the break room open, throwing his jacket onto a table. He doubled over it, his fists hitting the fake wood as he bit back sobs. He would not shed tears. He refused.

"Dean, Dean--what happened?" Benny asked, pulling at Dean's shoulders.

"I don't know where he is--I don't know if he's even alive or not--!" Dean exclaimed, but his voice was cut off. Benny hushed him, pushing him down into a chair.

"I'm going to try to call Sam--"

"Benny--!"

"He can take you home, make sure you're situated. You're in no state to work. I'll get Gavin to cover--"

"He's going to use sugar instead of salt--!"

"Dean, you're in no shape to operating anything but your pillow, reshaping it to get comfortable so you can fall asleep in your bed. I'm going to try to connect to Sam."

The phone rang, making both Dean and Benny jump. Benny made a hushed motion at Dean, and he managed to get ahold of himself as Benny answered the phone. Benny nodded, looking over his shoulder at Dean before saying, "He's a mess." A few seconds later, he said, "Okay, I got him...Thanks. Bye." He put the metal bell-like thing back in the cradle, setting the device back down onto the table.

"Who was that?"

"Charlie."

\----

Despite his busted, swollen lip, Castiel kissed Dean just as hard, hands worriedly holding Dean's face. Dean had just walked in, and the first thing he did was kiss him.

"What happened?" Dean exclaimed.

"I--Dean, they're the men from Thanksgiving. They recognized me, apparently."

"How hurt are you?"

"Bruised ribs, some cuts, more visible bruises. I'm fine," he insisted, softly, taking the hand of Dean's that was in his hair, the heel of his hand behind his ear. Dean pulled his hand down, Cas rubbing his thumb over the back of it. "I'm fine. It's nothing that can't heal."

"But the fact that it happened--"

Castiel let Dean's hand go, instead putting his hands on Dean's waist. His fingers ghosted over the vee of his hips, almost absently, before saying, "I know. I know."

~~~***~~~

_He started swing before swing was even a thing, Sammy, a lot of people did. I did, too._

**February 13, 1926**

Every heartbeat called his name. Every sharp gasp, every whimper, every moan, it all called to him in a way that just couldn't be resisted, and Dean was thankful for that. He was practically in another world at that moment, his mind elsewhere and not functioning, as tears filled his eyes from the searing mix of pain and pleasure. His stomach was in knots, in that warm, good way that made his knees weak and heart race and perspiration shine on his the hollow of his throat. He pressed his face farther into his pillow to muffle the sounds coming from him, his fingers tightening their hold on it. Open-mouth kisses were left down his spine like rose petals sprinkled in a bath, leaving shivers that soaked into his muscles, and making him feel jittery where Castiel's warm breath smothered his flushed skin.

It was like every place in his body decided to be hyper-sensitive, causing his heart to race as Castiel moved against him, hips moving back and forth at various angles, hands and lips roaming, begging to touch anywhere either one could reach, their goal to make Dean unravel until he was just a sweaty, shaking, whimpering pile of tangled yarn.

There were few times where the two men were fully capable of tearing the other apart until nothing was left. Sure, Cas melted as soon as Dean's fingers brushed over his skin and Dean's hair rose in anticipation at just a look from Cas's blue eyes, and that proved that the effect that had on each other was profound and powerful, practically unbreakable. But even then, some nights--maybe it depended on the night--one of the two was completely capable of making the other forget how to speak or move.

"You went completely out of it," Castiel said, chuckling softly. He was laying beside Dean, between the other man and the wall, his bare back pressed against the cold plaster.

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly, his face flushing a dark crimson.

"Don't be sorry. See, the things coming out of your mouth..." Cas trailed off, but, according to the tone, Dean got the idea. He didn't even realize he'd been speaking--he couldn't think, he couldn't control his movements, all he could do was _feel._ The red already pooled on his face darkened, a deep chuckle raising from his throat. Cas noticed the blush and he laughed slightly. He moved closer, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder blade. He kissed his shoulder, and Dean couldn't help but smile exhaustedly at the small action.

~~~***~~~

**March 9, 1926**

"Where are we going?" Castiel asked Dean, who was dragging him out of the coffeehouse.

"You are letting Hannah take over, and we are going on a short trip to Eatonton," Dean said, flagging down a taxi. He looked back at Cas as the taxi began to pull over.

"Any special reason?" he asked.

Dean replied as he opened the back door. "It's...I'll tell you when we get there," he said, softly. Castiel nodded, sliding into the backseat. Dean came in after him, and told the driver to start to Eatonton.

The drive was roughly an hour and a half long, give or take ( _traffic is a bitch_ ), but the two men managed it easily. They stayed respectively apart, making nice, easy, platonic conversation, keeping their love for each other out of their eyes as the driver occasionally looked back at them. By the time they made it to Eatonton--Dean knew just by the scenery when they had crossed into town--Dean leaned forward and told the driver to head to Eatonton Cemetery. Castiel became confused at that, having been kept clueless. It was fifteen minutes before the car stopped at the front of the cemetery. The driver turned around in his seat, gruffly saying how much the fair would be. Dean already knew, since he and Sam headed up here once a year, and had the money out minutes before.

"Thank you, sir," Dean said, politely, before opening his door and pulling himself out of the car. Dean followed his example, carefully opening his door out into the road. He quickly slid out, closing it and making his way to the grass by looping behind the car. Once Castiel's shoe touched the grass, the automobile started off, engine purring loudly and exhaust billowing from the exhaust pipe.

"Today's my mom's birthday," Dean said, quietly, turning to look out over the variation of gravestones--there were some topped with crosses, angels. Some, Dean knew, had coins placed on top, showing the men who had fought for their country. Some had wreaths set in front or propped on top, flowers in a plastic wrapping sitting in front, wilting and browning.

"Why--does--is Sam coming up here, too?" Castiel asked, not sure what to say.

Dean shook his head, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Sam doesn't come up here more than once a year. I come with him when he does. It's for his birthday. We go to the old house and sit in front of it."

Castiel nodded. Dean knew he already knew it.

He scuffed the asphalt with his shoe. "Um...I wanted to take you to her grave."

Castiel's eyebrows raised for a few seconds. "Wh--Really?"

Dean nodded. He wanted to hook his arm through Cas's, but he knew that they were in public and they had to be respectful. He said, softly, "Follow me," and started forward. He just barely heard Castiel after him, the soft occasional swish of his pants, and it brought a small comfort to Dean's anxious mind.

Dean was choosing to bear more of his life to Castiel. They've almost been together for two years at that point, but it was still hard to open up. Dean still hasn't told Castiel much of how he and his brother came to Lawrenceville--Cas hasn't even met Benny or Bobby--Bobby had been one of Dean's first bosses, and had looked out for the two boys like his own sons--and there was no reason for him not to have already.

Dean stopped in front of his parent's gravestones, the marking of the cross bold on his mother's. He took a painful deep breathe, and looked over at Castiel, who was looking at him.

"My mom believed in God and angels," he said, his voice breaking. "She prayed every day. Morning, silently before she ate, and at night. She prayed to God but also to deceased family members, and what she always prayed for was the wellbeing of others. For me and Sam to live happy lives, for my dad to let go of the alcohol and to not hit me or Sam, for our lives to be just...happy. She prayed for our neighbors when she heard something was wrong, she prayed for the people in her church...She prayed for the world. She wanted what was best for everyone."

"She sounds like she was a kind woman," Castiel murmured, softly.

"The day after my birthday..." His voice quickly died, tears now flooding his eyes. Castiel nodded, his expression light, as Dean didn't continue. He took a deep breath, and pushed on. "The day after, when I couldn't find you...I just--I prayed for the first time. The first time where it was my choice. I prayed to her. I prayed to my mom, asking her to make sure you were safe. I didn't--Cas, I didn't know what else to do--"

Castiel carefully put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and the action made tears leak from Dean's eyes, tracing their ways down his cheeks, curving over the skin and muscle. Cas said, "Dean--Dean, hey. Look at me." Dean did, a small sound coming from his throat as he tried not to let the tears fall. "Don't cry. Please. Everything's fine--I'm fine. It's...Let's just sit, okay? Or do what you normally do when you come here."

Dean forced himself to nod, and he gently pulled Cas down onto the grass. It was a weird, subconscious decision to put himself between Cas and his father's grave, and he knew it was pointless, but he did it anyways. Castiel just stayed silent about it.

"What do you usually do here?" Castiel asked, softly. "Do you talk to her?"

Dean shrugged. "Sometimes. I came here the day after Sam told me Mads was pregnant, gushed about it to the stone. It's pointless. She-she's dead."

Castiel sighed, leaning back a little. "Maybe graves are some sort of connection, and the spirit can hear the things that are going on around their stone?"

"Maybe."

"I hope."

Dean sighed. "I really wanted her to know about the baby. Sam did, too. He was practically keeled over when he realized Mom would never meet her grandchild, or potential grandchildren. I'd never realized it before, either."

"What about praying? Why have you only done it once, if you want to talk to her?"

"I don't believe in any of that crap."

Castiel nodded. "Why don't you?"

He scoffed. "If God was real, the world wouldn't be how it is."

"Maybe He can't control it. People make up their own minds--"

"But He made us. Created us. Sewed together the fibers of our beings and dropped us down here. He created something ugly, that was supposed to be beautiful--and it may have started out as beautiful, but then it became torturous and hateful," he spat out, venom heavy in his voice.

"The world still has a great amount of living to do," Cas whispered, and Dean looked over at him. The dark haired man was looking up at the sky, a sad look on his face. The sky was gray, the clouds a darker coal color, and Dean thought for a fleeting moment that they should head home before Cas spoke. "When you think about it, the world has already come such a long way. Why couldn't it go farther?"

"Cas, it really doesn't seem like it."

"It may be after our time, but someday, I bet that the world, that people, will be better. I know there's always going to be hateful people out there, but we can hope for better, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Right. Hope for better."

"...I do believe."

Dean's eyebrow perked up slightly. "You do?"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean I worship."

"So...What do you...?"

"I pray, occasionally. For hate and malice to dissipate, and for the people around me. I pray for Charlie and Hannah, Gabriel and Sammandriel--I pray for anyone and everyone, whether it's groups or individuals, to be safe and accepted and that people are kind to them. But praying doesn't work. I know that. I wake up every day and meet that head-on. It's just...if He is there, it's worth a shot to try and be heard."

Dean nodded, silent.

Castiel then whispered, "I pray for you," and Dean couldn't help but put his hand over his, curling their fingers together.

~~~***~~~

_Every time he spun, when the girl's back was to him, he'd make eye contact with me all the way across the room just for a split second, over and over again._

**May 2, 1926**

After their usual "coffee date," the two Winchester brothers took a taxi over to Eatonton. Sure, it was a long car ride to and from, but they did it every year on Sam's birthday. It was just something the two brothers mutually decided to do after their dad died, and it just happened to be on Sam's birthday--like Castiel and his family, only taking it out of the locked safe in the back of his mind on May nineteenth.

"Do you think the garden is still back there?" Sam asked as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

Dean shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. "We-we can go around and look."

Sam nodded. As the two went past their usual bounds--the uneven, gray-green sidewalk stretching past the front yard a few feet from the uneven, slanted road--and walked around the side of the house. Sam touched the stray vine growing up the dirty siding of the house, before Dean reached over and slapped his hand. "It could be poisonous."

Sam gave him a pointed-but-blank look, but lowered his hand from the greenery. The two continued on behind the house, finding it just as unkept as the front, if not worse, the garden laden with weeds and overgrown plants, rotting vegetables on the ground from when they had been ripe. Some were decomposing, and Dean winced at the smell of rotten tomatoes.

"I don't understand why," Sam whispered, his voice suddenly husky and dry.

"Why tomatoes rot?" Dean asked, coughing.

"Why she had to die."

Dean looked at Sam, who was looking at the garden with big, sad eyes. Sam had his arms wrapped around his torso, hugging himself, his cheeks rosy from the sun beating above them. Dean looked at the practically mutilated garden, the overgrown and dead greens, the decomposing vegetables, and his heart broke. He remembered playing around in the cared-for backyard, the grass soft beneath his bare feet. He remembered the feel of the sun on his back when he was on his knees beside his mother, hands burrowed into the dark soil. He remembered the first time he had ever seen an earthworm, freaking out over the slimy pink thing slinking out from underneath a plastic-y leaf, and how Mary was just laughing--she gave him two pieces of pie that day, different flavors, to calm his nerves and as an apology for her laughter.

Dean sighed, bowing his head. "I--I don't know, Sammy. The way she died, it-it was so domestic, it could've happened to anyone. It was pretty 50/50, you know? She got a concussion, got some internal bleeding on her brain--it could have not happened, but it did. There was no stopping it. You know how Dad was--"

"Just stop."

He sighed, brokenly. "I miss her, too, you know."

"You didn't have a girlfriend begging to meet your parents," he snapped, suddenly turning a sharp hazel glare on his brother. "You didn't have to have the realization that your kid would never meet their grandmother--that Mom will never meet her grandkids, and that was one simple thing she was looking forward to."

Dean swallowed down his retort. He remembered that. Sam with shining eyes a few months after Madison announced her pregnancy, when she was starting to show, mumbling to Dean about Mom and how she wanted grandkids. Sam bringing Madison to meet Dean for the first time, and explaining to her how their parents were dead. Madison's intensely apologetic face, realizing how much she'd bothered Sam by constantly asking to meet his parents. Dean knew that Sam had taken Madison to the graves in Eatonton shortly after that, just like Dean did with Castiel a few months ago.

"You need something strong. Vodka?"

"Prohibition," Sam rolled his eyes.

"Back in town, idiot. I know some good places, you know."

"Oh, I _know_."

\----

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Benny cried when Dean entered the diner. "You're early!"

"Sam and I left the house early," he grumbled, turning around from shutting the door. He froze.

Castiel jumped up from his seat at the bar. "I know you wanted to be the one to introduce us, but I got bored. Plus, isn't this better, in a way? We got to know each other without you hovering over our shoulders."

He scoffed, walking over to them. "I don't hover."

"Dean," he said, giving him a serious look. "You hover."

He rolled his eyes. At having seen the empty state of the diner, he put his hand on Cas's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone. "I never hover."

"How was Sam today?" Benny asked.

"You guys weren't at the coffeehouse as long as you usually are," Castiel added.

"We left early for more time in Eatonton, but also so Madison could have Sam for more of the evening. It is his birthday, after all."

"Little ass needs to come see me, then," Benny spat, though he was grinning.

"He'll most likely show up later. He usually does, or at least the days bracketing," Dean assured. "But Sam was a little snippy today, so I hope it's at least tomorrow. Anyway, why's the place empty?"

He shrugged. "We've had a slow day today." Castiel nodded as backup agreement.

"And how long have you been here?" Dean asked him, jumping up onto one of the bar seats.

"A few hours. He fed me," he said, simply.

"He got leftover meatloaf," Benny said.

"It was just as good as it would've been fresh. Amazing."

"I told him that you made the recipe."

"You didn't have to do that," Dean said, leaning his elbow on the wooden bar.

"He's gotta know what an amazing chef you are!"

"He knows. We've been together for two years, come June!"

"It's still honestly hard to believe," Castiel said, lightly, and Dean smiled softly.

"Hard to believe that we've been together this long?"

"Yes, but it's also hard to believe that I even met you. It was a one-in-over-a-hundred chance."

"Everything happens for a reason, Cas," he said, standing up. "And one thing right now is, I came here to work, so I'm going to work as soon as people get in here, but I gotta be ready." He gave Cas a chaste kiss on the lips before he jumped up onto the bar, spinning so he faced the opposite direction on it, and slid off beside Benny. As he started towards the kitchen, he heard the door open.

"Benny!" Madison exclaimed. "It's been a while since I've seen you, so I tagged along."

Benny chuckled. "Always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart." Dean turned around to see Benny jogging out from behind the bar, enveloping Madison into a tight hug. Dean's heart seized in his chest, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He took a rushed, ragged deep breath, feeling the pounding of his heart in the arch of his foot.

"Hey, you're the guy who owns the coffeehouse," Sam said to Cas.

"Yes," Castiel said, quickly. "But speaking of that, I must get back. Benny and I were just talking about purchases--business stuff you wouldn't care about." He waved it off. He said as he stood, "Bye, Benny, Dean," and started out, sliding past Sam.

"It was nice meeting with you," Benny called after him, and Cas raised a hand in response as he slipped out of the diner. Dean sighed, in what maybe was relief. He wasn't sure. His heartbeats were still fast, and he was still breathing like he'd just run a marathon, but all he could think was _Sam still doesn't know_. And that was somehow good.

~~~***~~~

**May 19** **, 1926**

Dean rolled over and put his arms around Castiel the second he woke up. Castiel made a sound, maybe in slight protest or possibly even acknowledgement, but let Dean keep his arms around him and wound one of their hands together.

"Dean--"

"Shhhh," he hummed, kissing the bare skin on the back of his shoulder. "One; it's too early to talk. Two; today is a day of emotional rehab."

Through the whole day, Dean took care of Castiel--waiting on his hand and foot, showering him with soft little kisses. Just being there for him on the hardest day of his year. Dean didn't mind it. In his opinion, this was a small thing that had great meaning. 

It wasn't hard to be there for someone when they needed it.

~~~***~~~

_But it was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up._

**July 4** **, 1926**

Sam came out of the coffeehouse as Dean was closely near, the taller man holding two mugs, a small plate topped with a piece of pie balancing on the inside of one of his wrists. They both reached the normal table at the same time, both of them greeting the other with wide smiles.

"Dean!" Madison's voice exclaimed, and the older brother barely had any time to whip around before she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders with a hug and kissing his cheek.

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her for a few seconds. "Hey, Mads, I didn't expect you."

"Since we were just going to go get her afterward and head back out, I thought I'd just bring her along," Sam said, apologetically.

Dean shook his head, grinning. "No, it's fine! I'm actually going to run in for a hot minute, make yourselves at home and all, I'll be back." Once Sam nodded, he quickly walked into the coffeehouse, letting the door swing shut behind him. Since there was a slight lull in the place--there was no one inside--and Sam knew he'd be back, Dean hopped up onto the counter, splaying out.

Castiel chuckled, quickly dipping down and pressing an upside-down kiss to Dean's lips, the two hidden behind a case of pastries that sat on the counter. He said, softly, "You know my rule, Dean."

"No blows after ten thirty?" he joked, quirking his voice in an innocent manner. He smiled lightly up at Cas, the interaction easy and appealing.

"No. Off the counter."

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes despite the permanent position of his smile. He sat up, spinning slightly away from the counter. "Happy?"

"Very."

"But I'm so far away."

Castiel rolled his eyes, grinning. "Good. Sicko."

Dean gasped dramatically. "I should just go back to where I'm loved, shouldn't I?" he said, sarcastically, starting towards the door.

"Dean?"

Dean stopped where he was, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah, Cas?"

"Love you."

He turned his head around, not helping the blush that brushed heavily over his cheeks. "Love ya, too, babe." He darted towards the door, pulling it open and stepping out. He was in his seat before the door even latched shut, setting his crossed forearms on the table in front of him.

"Sasha is a horrible name!" Madison was exclaiming.

"Hm?" Dean hummed as he grabbed his coffee mug, confused, as Sam insisted, "The name doesn't matter! Whatever it is, I don't care!"

Madison sighed. "And for a boy?"

"Peter?"

"I've got nothing against Peter," Dean interjected, taking a quick sip of his coffee. "Why are you talking names?"

"We're pregnant," Madison said, quickly, her and Sam sharing the same ecstatic, wide grin.

"Really?" he exclaimed. "That's amazing!"

"Yeah," Sam said, happily. "But, Maddie's already talking about names."

"Peggy would be such a cute name if it's a girl!" she insisted, a begging tone somehow in her voice. "Peggy or Lucas, please?"

"We'll decide when you give birth," he said, authoritatively. "We have no business knowing what name we're going to have before we even see it."

She sighed. "Fine."

\----

Dean saw him during the fireworks. Standing beside a tree, looking at Dean instead of the booming, exploding colors in the sky. Colored light washing over his skin, shadows stretching around him, his shoulders bare of a coat or jacket because of the humidity of the summer night. 

He kept his eyes on Castiel as he started to get up, but when Cas shook his head at him, gesturing downward with his hand, he slowly lowered himself back down onto the blanket that Madison had laid out on the grass hours before. Castiel nodded once Dean was sitting back down.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

Dean turned his head around to look at his little brother. "Nothing." He looked back at Cas for a few seconds before turning back to Sam, saying, "I thought I saw someone."

~~~***~~~

**October 22, 1926**

Dean sighed, putting his face in his hands for a few seconds. The last few days, he'd been feeling cooped up. He'd be tugging on his collar for no reason, sweat shining on his hairline, feeling like he was suffocating if he was even just alone in his apartment. He needed to get out of town, even if the drive was less than an hour long. It would help, he knew, just to be out in a different place.

"It's just a movie!" Dean exclaimed.

Cas turned on him with a venomous look. "It's like you don't even care that we--!"

"Cas, as far as anyone knows, we're friends. Besides, it's over in Atlanta! No one we know will be there!"

"You know how people are!" he barked, his blue eyes flaring. "One minute, we appear like best friends, the next, some asshole comes out of nowhere, claims we're cocksuckers, and then that's the end of the book! You know that, Dean."

One thing that Dean had picked up on over the last two years was the patterns of Castiel's anger. Dean could tell that he was holding in a lot of it, it was practically oozing out of every pore as if it were sweat, shining on his skin. He held so much of it--so much that it was carved into every bone and organ. If he got angry over even the smallest thing, it all just came pouring out like water through a broken dam. It was like a knit sweater. It could be perfect, with just one tiny little flaw--like a strand of yarn having snapped and was hanging loose. And the anger came and pulled the string, and the sweater just fell apart.

"Yet every time I go and see Sam, you tell me to tell him. Hypocritical, don't you think?"

"He's your brother--!"

"He could be one of those assholes that you apparently know everything about! You're practically urging me closer to the edge of the cliff and telling me to jump!"

"It's different! Like I've said, he's your brother. He'd never hurt you--I've seen how much he idolizes you, how much he cares for you."

"It's not different, Cas! You refuse to even be in the same room as him, especially if it's outside of the coffeehouse!" Dean took a deep breath, shaking his head. He said, relaxing his voice, "You don't need to avoid him."

Castiel scoffed, shaking his head. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You make it sound like I don't have a choice."

"After that disappearing act a few moths ago, at Benny's, I just got tired of it," he said through gritted teeth, a wave of anger having washed over him. "It's--there's no need for it. You're allowed to talk to him, be in the same room as him, even if I'm not there."

Cas's face turned to stone. "There's always going to be hate in the world. Even now, yes, there's some people who are okay with the things that are despised, but that number of open-minded people is unbelievably small, and I don't think it's getting any bigger," he said, a hint of a growl at the edge of his voice. "Sam--even if he doesn't care that you are--he could care that I am. Even if he doesn't care, about you and or I, he's at least going to be confused and out of touch."

"He better be out of touch, you're my man," Dean joked, giving him a grin, trying to suppress the tension in the room. It was brought by anger, completely cold and frozen but also hot and fiery, and it just suffocated Dean even more.

The other man sighed, dropping his head. "Dean, you know I love you."

"I love you, too."

"And I want to be able to go out and do all those things that other people-- _different_ people--can do. I want to be able to kiss you out from behind a closed door, to even just put my hand on your arm without being accused of-of being something horrible just for admiring you."

Dean blinked, feeling a hard pressure build right behind his eyes. "Cas, you know I want it, too--But, man, we've talked about this. We just--I guess we have to wait."

There were a few long, excruciating moments of silence as Dean waited for Castiel to reply. The reply was small, soft, as he raised his bowed head. "So, how about we pick Charlie up for that movie in Atlanta?"

\---

"I've never seen a movie," Charlie said, her voice light and bouncy, as she walked into a row of chairs. Castiel and Dean followed. The group of three took the three seats closest to the aisle, Cas and Dean on the end. The theater was crowded, but not as much as it could be. The 10th Street Theatre had one screening room, but they had seats for 500.

"Me, neither," Cas said as they sat down. "Though I did read an article--"

"Boooooo! No talk about reading in here!" Dean exclaimed. "We are here to stare at a screen, not to talk about words on paper about said screen."

The group of three bickered as the theater filled up a little more before the movie was starting, making fun of each other and laughing too loudly. As the room began to darken, they all calmed down, regaining a hold on their solid, cool composures. The screen lit up in front of them, the moving monochrome images immediately mesmerizing Castiel and Charlie. Dean just smiled at the way their eyes widened in wonder, remembering he and Sam's reactions when they had come a few months before, shortly after it first opened.

It surprised him when, in the darkness of the theater, he felt Castiel rest his palm on his thigh, his thumb rubbing soft circles into his jeans. Minutes later, Dean laid his hand over Castiel's, palm against the back of his hand, entwining his fingers through Cas's.

~~~***~~~

**December 24, 1926**

The moonlight was soft against their skin, a soft, pale wash against Dean's honey tone and Castiel's pale tan. Cas's head was tucked under Dean's jaw, laying on the front, flat plane of his shoulder, running his hand up and down Dean's torso, tracing muscle over his stomach and invisible designs into his chest. Dean ran his hand up and down Cas's back, his fingertips ghosting along the skin, along the track of his spine underneath.

"What would your family think of me?" Castiel suddenly asked.

"What?"

"If your parents were still alive--in the stage that your dad was before you were ten--and being a fag was okay and your family was okay with it, and they knew me...what would they think of me?"

Dean's heart almost broke. Here it was, the Eve before a family-oriented holiday, on which Dean had to leave Cas behind. So far, they've had two Christmases, both of which they spent apart--Dean with his brother, Cas with nobody but the customers in his coffeehouse, if he even decides to open that day.

"...Cas, it's..."

"Like you've never daydreamed," he said, and Dean was shocked by the way his eyes teared up at the break in Cas's voice.

Dean tightened his arm around him, squeezing his hip reassuringly. "My dad would probably like you for the sake of me liking you. He'd do it to make me happy. He'd have maybe come around eventually, but I don't know. My dad was all guns and engine grease and beer, and you're all...tea on a Sunday morning."

"Dean. Coffee."

He chuckled. "Fine, _coffee_ on a Sunday morning. With your stupid strawberry and ice."

"And Sam?"

"You and Sam would get along well. I can see you two being friends. You both love reading, you're both so freakishly smart--I think you and him could just talk for hours over Confucius's philosophy--and...I don't know, I just know he'd like you. He'd approve."

"Approving is good."

"He'd probably beg to go to farmer's markets with you."

Castiel laughed. The two were silent for a minute before Cas asked, his voice serious, "And your mom?"

Dean smiled, sadly. "She'd like you. I know that for a fact. She...She and Sam are a lot alike. She loved baking--I could see you two sharing and trading recipes every time you see each other. She's the one who taught me how to cook."

"She did a good job at that. Now baking, on the other hand..."

Dean lightly shoved him, despite the smile on his face, and Cas laughed. "I can't help that cookies turn into hockey pucks if I'm the one making them!"

"There's a little thing called leaving them slightly unbaked."

"Cas. Raw eggs. Food poisoning."

"It's just slightly uncooked! It's fine!"

"I'm never eating your cookies again."

"Fine, fine, just...Can you tell me more about your mom? I don't know much."

He smiled lightly, trying to figure out where to begin. "...The house always smelled like she was baking something--whether it was a left over smell from something, whether it was something cooling on the counters or the table, or she was actually cooking something--the house usually always smelled like butter, sugar, and melting chocolate. How Sam and I aren't diabetic, I don't know--well, Sam's basically a rabbit, so--"

Cas stifled a laugh, rolling onto his back. "Basically a rabbit!" he cried, his shoulders shaking from his laugh.

"It's true! He will literally walk around with a carrot!"

"But I don't think I'm helping you any, spoiling you with baked goods."

"No, but I deeply appreciate it. Anyways, she also loved to garden. She had one out back. Sammy and I loved helping her with it, though I think we mainly got in the way." He chuckled, and he rolled onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow. He looked down at Cas, bringing his hand to his unshaven cheek.

"...I think Gabriel would like you."

Dean nodded, wanting him to go on.

"He'd probably treat you like another little brother--that's just the person he was. He'd tell you, 'You got spunk, kiddo," or something like that." Dean chuckled, and Cas went on. "Alfie, I think he'd like you, but wouldn't talk to you much. He was timid, I remember, especially as he got older and understood more things about the world and the people in it. He'd probably be a little scared to talk to you."

"I do come off really gruff, usually."

Cas nodded. He craned his neck up, lightly touching his lips to Dean's. "I find that it's your way of protecting yourself." 

Dean nodded in silent agreement, leaning down and pressing his mouth to Cas's. "I think you'd fit right in with my family. Will your attitude, you'd have no problem."

"My attitude?" Castiel asked, sarcastically.

He grinned. "You're a very rude man when you want to be," he said, giving him a light, chaste kiss. "Merry Christmas, Cas."

"It's not even midnight yet."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I have a great sense of time, I think it's past midnight."

Cas huffed. "Fine. Merry Christmas, Dean."

_I was in so deep that even a small look for barely two seconds made my heart race._

 


	4. 1927

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of 1927 and 1928 are shorter than usual. This is building up to something huge, and despite making it up, I was in denial and pushing it off. Hence the shortness of each part.

_I swear, it all was like a dream. Every sleepy Sunday morning when everyone in my building would be at church._

**January 1, 1927**

If Dean was anything, it wasn't perfect.

He was messy--Castiel practically walked right after him, cleaning everything in his wake--he ate pie like it was his only life source--how he didn't have heart problems, he didn't know--he didn't do anything that was perfect. And he wasn't anything special.

Now, Castiel would disagree with that, for the most part.

Dean could usually find words to say. It wasn't easy to take his words away from him--if you did, he quickly rebounded. But now, as he stared at the ring Castiel nonchalantly held out to him, he had no words. None.

"We can't get married, no, but that's not something people need to know. I know women always try to get you into bed with them--why wouldn't they? But--"

"Don't objectify me," he said, sarcastically, a grin sliding onto his face. A grin that immediately disappeared at Castiel's low-level glare. "Sorry--but, seriously, Cas, th-this is..."

"Just wear it. That's all I'm asking you. I have one, too. Still have to go get it, but it's paid for."

Something sparked in Dean's chest, some kind of irritation. "No, Cas, let me pay for that."

"Dean--"

"I get why you're doing this. We can't legally get married. All we can do is have rings so we can try not to get talked up. I want _everything_ you want--believe me, I do--and this is the closest thing we can get to it." His voice died, as he tried to reach out for words, not quite knowing how to say what he wanted to say, and partially even what he wanted to say. "I...For what it's worth, I'd be honored to be your husband. Being yours."

"You're mine, I'm yours, and there's no other way I'd have it."

\----

"Ooh, shiny!" Charlie exclaimed when she saw the golden ring on Dean's left hand. She sat down in Castiel's chair at the small wooden dining table, grabbing Dean's hand and inspecting the smooth metal. "I approve, Castiel. You may marry my brother."

"Now all I need is Sam's blessing."

Dean's easy smile immediately fell, dropping his gaze down to the floor. The room was suddenly hot despite the cold outside, and Castiel's words echoed in Dean's ears. ( _Sam doesn't know. Sam has no clue._ )

That was Dean's internal conflict most days of the week. Every Sunday, on their coffee dates, the words to tell Sam about Castiel laid out on the tip of his tongue. He remembered his mother once saying she had her words on the tip of her tongue, and Dean had told her, "flick your tongue back." It was one of his favorite memories, how she was just hugging him and laughing, and it was one he always wanted to remember. Sam knowing about Castiel was one of his biggest fears, as well as one of his biggest dreams. It would either ruin everything or make it better--better, in the sense Sam knew Dean's secret, who he really was. In the sense of being able to bring Castiel to Thanksgiving and Christmas. In the sense of Castiel being a part of his family, wholly.

Dean heard Castiel soft words beside his ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

He shook his head. "It-it--"

"Don't say anything. Just accept my apology."

Dean nodded, feeling Charlie take his hand.

"You think he'll notice it, tomorrow?" she asked.

"Sam notices everything, of course he will," Dean said, quickly. He hadn't even thought about Sam seeing the ring. There'd be questions he had to answer, that he couldn't answer--

"You can always take it off. Don't feel like you can't," Castiel said, quietly.

Dean nodded. "If he wants to say anything, I'll...make something up. I don't want to take it off." Castiel nodded, not questioning his answer, venturing to the icebox as Charlie began to speak;

"Since the miscarriage, Madison hasn't been too happy--which is explainable, but Sam doesn't want her to go into too much of a depression. Two unsuccessful babies has been hard on both of them, but Maddie's convinced her body is cursed. He's carrying the weight for the both of them now. He thinks we should all go out," she said. "He and Madison, Bobby, Benny, you, me. We haven't done anything as a family in a while. On top of that, I haven't seen Bobby in forever, either."

Dean nodded. "When I think about it, I haven't seen Bobby in too long, either. About four months, I think. You and I should go annoy him, soon."

She grinned, evilly. "Deal." Castiel sat across from Charlie, a jar of cherries with him. He pulled one out by its stem before setting the jar down in front of him. She asked, "How do you guys do that tongue thing?"

"What thing?" Dean asked. "Tying it?"

She nodded furiously, her hair bouncing. "Yeah!"

Castiel fished out another cherry, holding it across the table to Charlie. She took it, eating the fruit on the end. Castiel plucked his own off the stem as Dean turned to look at him. He leaned towards Dean a little, the cherry out as offering. Dean opened his mouth as confirmation, and Castiel pressed the cherry onto his tongue before saying, "Put the stem vertically on your tongue, like it's a sword you're about to swallow. Half of it off the tip of your tongue."

Charlie did as told, holding half of the stem off of her tongue.

"Use the back of your teeth to fold the rest of it under your tongue. Once folded, put the bend between your front teeth so the ends cross."

Dean watched Charlie's chin move as she maneuvered the cherry stem, her eyes darting around as she focused. She nodded after a minute, smiling to show the dot of red stem between her teeth. She closed her lips again as Castiel said, "Use your tongue to bend one end into the loop. Once you do that, use your teeth and tongue to tighten."

Charlie set to work as Dean looked at Castiel, leaning back in his chair. Castiel popped a cherry into his own mouth before grabbing another, letting it hover over Dean's face as he held the stem. Dean craned his neck, hooking the cherry under his teeth and pulling it off.

"I did it!" Charlie exclaimed, jumping out of her chair and raising her arms in victory. Castiel and Dean chuckled, Dean giving her a short, quiet applause. She bowed dramatically, twisting around on her heels to face them. They saw that she was grinning as she straightened, strutting back over to them, standing behind Castiel and throwing her arms over his shoulders, wrapping them over his chest. "Are you proud of me, my fake husband?"

He laughed, lightly. "Yes, very proud."

The three went on like that for a few more hours. Talking, laughing, Charlie telling Castiel a few anecdotes about Dean's childhood that Sam had told her, which made Dean's face beet red from embarrassment and Castiel's just as red from laughing so hard. It took Charlie six times at saying goodbye before she actually left, and when she did, Castiel slowly latched the two locks on the door before walking back into the kitchen, where Dean was still in his chair. He was suddenly on him, hands on either side of Dean's face, drowning him in a deep, powerful kiss.

Parting for air what seemed like an eternity later, Dean asked, breathlessly, "What was that for?"

Castiel, perched on Dean's lap, shrugged. "I just wanted to. Why, are you complaining?"

"I am one hundred percent complain free," Dean said, softly, drawing him back in for another kiss.

~~~***~~~

_Every fucking strawberry that he'd put in his coffee--weird, right? But he loved it, said that the taste of strawberry mixed into the milk and the rough taste of the coffee grounds, made it taste like some kind of strawberry and cream concoction._

**January 24, 1927**

Bobby wanted to go to "that coffeehouse" Sam and Dean were always talking up. So there they were, Benny and Charlie giving Dean worried looks as he rotated the golden ring on his right ring finger, not able to bring himself to look at Bobby. Dean remembered the moment Bobby learned about him. It was in the library Bobby owned, and Dean was a hired librarian. It had been one of his first and best jobs in Lawrenceville, but when Bobby learned how many jobs the boy had, he laid him off. ( _"No child should be workin' that many jobs."_ ). Dean didn't remember exactly how Bobby figured out, but he remembered the disgust all over his face. He remembered begging Bobby not to report him ( _"I've never acted on it! Please, Bobby, I have Sammy to take care of!"_ ), how Bobby had just thrown his hands in the air and said, " _I don't care. Just be careful_." He said that Dean was like the son he never had, and Dean's heart had melted.

Bobby didn't like it, but he remained tolerant all through the years--even when Sam would tease Dean for the hickeys on his throat, that he wasn't quite able to hide.

Dean looked up when the buggy slowed to a stop, swiping his palms over his slacks to rid them of the nervous sweat he'd broken into. Charlie gave him one last look before she climbed out of the buggy, Bobby and Benny following her. He climbed out as Sam and Madison climbed off the back, the horses snorting and shaking their heads to get the flies off their snouts.

"Here we are. Best coffee in town," Sam said, smiling. "At least, in my opinion."

"I'm going to stay out here. I don't want anything," Dean said.

"I got him," Benny said, as Madison opened her mouth.

Sam nodded, slowly, a worried expression on his face. "We'll be back." He led Bobby in, Charlie and Madison trailing behind them.

Benny shoved Dean down into a chair before sitting across from him. "Are you okay? I know Bobby isn't--"

"It isn't formal," Dean said, lightly, as if he were in shock. "He doesn't know. Cas and Charlie won't give anything away. Bobby won't tell Sam--he's never told Sam, he promised he wouldn't tell anybody--"

"Brother, breathe," Benny said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Everything's fine. To Bobby, that's just some random man."

"That's what stings!" he exclaimed. "We're in a loop and we can't get our way, we just gotta keep following the fucking loop!"

Benny sighed. "I know. I'm sorry." Dean sighed, slumping back in his chair, right before Benny said, "I bet Cas would want to see you on your birthday."

"Hmph?"

"Let you grace Castiel with your presence," Benny said, standing up. "C'mon, up, up."

Dean sighed again, pushing himself off of the chair and towards the door. He put his hands behind his back, still nervously twisting the ring, but Benny didn't say anything as he pushed open the door and ducked inside, holding it for Dean to come through.

Dean recognized Hannah as she ran out from the kitchen, holding a drink in a Dixie cup. She set it on the counter, and Dean recognized the messy scrawl along the side of it as Castiel's, from where he'd doodle and write on Dean's arms and chest with a black pen, and from watching him write on paper. Hannah said, "Buttermilk, ice, strawberry." Dean rolled his eyes, just knowing that was Sam's. She grabbed another one behind the pastry display case, reaching for a lid with the other hand. "Herbal tea and honey," she said, as she put the lid on. Her gaze flicked up, and she smiled. "Hello, Dean."

Dean's entire composure wilted, but he forced a kind smile. "Hey."

She didn't respond to him, just ran back into the kitchen. Benny leaned in beside Dean. He began to whisper, "What was--?"

He said, under his breath, "She thinks Cas and I are close friends. I see her all the time."

"Dean, do you have a lady friend?" Madison teased.

"Nah, I just see her around," he said, deflecting her teasing. "Usually here."

"She doesn't work Sundays," Sam said.

"Do you think I only come here on Sundays?" he asked, something that sounded like an offended tone in his voice.

Sam shrugged, switching his iced coffee between hands.

"Hannah!" Dean looked up at Castiel's shout, and he burst out from the back a few moments later, some kind of white powder all over his apron. He looked up at the group and smiled apologetically. "My apologies, we've seemed to have an explosion of confectioners' sugar. I was making icing, but I guess now I have to clean up. Or, rather, Hannah should, she's the one who ran into me--"

"Get a bigger kitchen!" Hannah shouted.

"I pay you, you know!" he shouted back.

"I've been your best friend for years!"

"I should pay you for that, too, because I'm truly hard to get along with."

Dean couldn't help but snort, his hand immediately thrown over his mouth. Sam asked, "We always see you at your worst, don't we? This, the dreaded flour bomb..."

"Oh, dear God, now I'm having flashbacks," he said, moving forward. He leaned over the counter, his elbows propping him up, and asked, "Do you have everything you need?"

As Bobby opened his mouth, Hannah skidded out from the back. "Coffee, black." She reached over Castiel and set it in front of him. As Bobby took it, she said, "That's it, right?"

Madison nodded, holding her drink happily. "Thank you. Good luck with the sugar."

He chuckled. "Hannah'll need it." Hannah swatted him on the back of the head, and he yelped. He smiled at them again. "Have a good day."

Bobby was the first to turn around and go, Sam and Madison following. Charlie hooked her arm through Benny's and dragged him after her. Dean looked at Castiel as they all filed out, and Castiel gave him a wink that Hannah couldn't see, mouthing, " _Happy birthday_." Dean smiled at him before turning and following Charlie and Benny. Sam flagged down another buggy, and he and Madison climbed into the front row, Bobby in the middle. Charlie dragged Benny to the back, pestering him about something.

Dean climbed up beside Bobby, who was gingerly holding his Dixie cup in his hand. Once settled, he covered his ring with his hand, an absent gesture he barely had any idea he was doing. But he did know that he didn't want Bobby to see it.

As subtly as he could, he pulled his hands apart, slid the ring off his finger--guilt slapping him across the face--and tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

~~~***~~~

**February 14, 1927**

"Cas. Baby, get up."

Castiel groaned, pushing his face into the pillow. Dean chuckled and pushed at his shoulder harder, making him groan again and flail an arm at him. Dean laughed.

"Cas, come on, you told me to wake you up."

"I would do no such thing," he said, his voice tired and slurred with sleep and denial, into his pillow.

"Well, you did, so wake up!"

"Why? The world is a cruel, dark place. Why would I want to coexist with that evil?"

Dean thought for a few seconds. "...To make it good."

Castiel didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled Dean down to his knees and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, burying his face in his shoulder, all with his eyes closed. Dean couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from his throat. Not having the heart to move and disturb Cas, he laid his head against Cas's dark hair, closed his eyes, and just breathed the serenity deep into his lungs, holding onto it while he could.

~~~***~~~

 _Every time he made me so angry my blood boiled and smoke came out of my ears._ _Every time he'd feed me cherries just for the sake of getting me to eat some kind of fruit that wasn't macerated or baked in a pie or cobbler._

**May 19, 1927**

Dean was sprawled out on his back, staring up at the ceiling. One hand was tucked under his head, the other laying on his stomach in a fist. Hot air wafted in through the open window as he listened to the twinkle of piano keys from the turntable on the stand beside the bed. The dawdle of piano keys and the whistle of a saxophone filled the air around him, dancing around with the humidity, Billie Holiday's voice soon coming to his ears. The song reminded him of the night he met Castiel, the music and unidentified smoke floating in the air around them, Dean having been dancing with that beautiful girl. For a second, he wondered where she was. It'd been a few years. He wouldn't be surprised if she was happy and settled. He also wouldn't be surprised if she was still trying to get men into bed, just how she'd been trying to with Dean. He wondered if that lipstick had stained her lips red. He also wondered if she did get lucky that night.

"You know the kitchen's too small."

"It's bigger than mine," Castiel replied, whisking cocoa, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, and milk together. "Therefore, better for baking."

"You got a bakery below your freakishly tiny kitchen," Dean said, sitting up and turning onto his hip.

"For business."

He rolled his eyes. "You know, today is the day where I'm supposed to wait on your hand and foot, and there you are, baking."

"A man can be busy if he wants."

"I think you mean, 'a man can test new recipes if he wants.'"

"That, too."

Dean tried to hide his worry, asking, "Cas, are you feeling okay?"

Castiel sighed, letting go of the bowl and whisk he was holding and walking over to Dean. "Dean, you don't need to coddle me."

"What if I want to?"

"Then I'll still say no."

"Well, if you're all high and mighty today, can you make you your fantastic lemon merengue?"

Cas rolled his eyes, and hit Dean with the rag he had draped over his shoulder.

\----

Dean was reading one of the many books Castiel had listed for him to read when he heard a loud clang in the kitchen. His head swung up so hard that his neck cracked, but he didn't care about that.

All he could see was that Cas was on the floor.

He tossed the book away, haphazardly pushing himself out of the bed. His foot caught on the sheet, and he tumbled to the wooden floor. He pushed himself over, sliding onto his knees beside him, leaning a shoulder against the cupboard. "Cas? What happened?"

"I burned them," he said, monotone, staring at the open oven, at the smoke that tumbled from it.

"Burned what?"

"I burned them, Dean--I burned them!" He curled into Dean's chest, his shoulders beginning to shake. All Dean could hear from him was the soft, heartbreaking repeat of "I burned them."

~~~***~~~

**June 14, 1927**

"Where would you be right now?" Dean asked, his voice quiet and partially muffled in his pillow. As he spoke, his lips rubbed against the cotton pillowcase, his voice soaking into the cloth.

The two were laying in bed, the blanket tangled underneath them, only in briefs and T-shirts, Castiel unaware he was only wearing one sock. It was their anniversary, the day for new experiences, to soak into each other's company, to be proud of the fact they made it another year.

It had been a while since they both have been at ease. So that's what they were doing. Laying in bed together without any sole purpose besides laying in bed, speaking in hushed voices though they were alone.

"If I what? Where would I be right now if I what?" Castiel replied, turning his head towards Dean a little more. While Dean was on his side, back pressed to the wall behind him, Castiel was on his back, an arm folded under his head, the other brushing over Dean's--forearm nudging forearm, wrist pressed to wrist, fingers ghosting over fingers, fingertips trailing over palms and wrists and forearms.

"If you never ran into me. If you never met me."

"I know where you would be. Where you would've been, at least."

"Where? What?"

"In bed, with that woman," he mused. There was nothing angry or off-putting in his voice, just a gentle softness, like a caress, or a mindless brush of knuckles on knuckles--so mindless that you weren't even aware that the contact happen. "The one you were dancing with." Dean started to shake his head, but Cas went on. "She was pretty. She clearly wanted to undress you right then and there."

He shook his head again, his cheek rubbing into the pillow. "Women have never been appealing. I was honestly just messing around with her. I was letting her think we were going to, you know, and then I was just gonna disappear before we'd leave."

"Jerk," Castiel muttered, though his voice was vacant of emotion.

"I couldn't get what I wanted, why should she?"

The next few minutes were silent. They heard the thrum of traffic outside, a mix of buggies and automobiles, the sounds coming in through their open window--it was too hot to have it closed. Dean focused in on Castiel's breathing, his soft inhales and exhales, the way the air bended around his lips.

Castiel then said, "I'd...If I never met you, I'd either still be out there flirting and dancing on the line of getting arrested, or...I'd be settled down." At that, Dean suddenly felt very aware of the golden band on his finger. He'd grown used to it over the time since he received it from Castiel, not even noticing if he had it on, but noticing if he had it off. "Probably with a woman."

"Why not a man?"

"Women have always been appealing, just much less than men. Besides that, I don't really care what you are--man or woman--I care for who you are. You, Dean, are perfect. You're all I could ever want or ask for. If I never met you, I wouldn't be living the greatest life I could live. If I'd never met you and had settled down, I don't think I'd be happy. Not the way I am with you." Castiel turned his head, looking at Dean with his heavenly blue eyes.

Dean stared at him for a few seconds before mumbling intelligibly.

"Babe, say that again."

Dean sat up, propping himself up on his elbow. He felt the heat rushing to his cheek, could practically feel the swell of red blossoming on his skin. "I love you."

"It looks like you're blushing and, because of that, I cannot give you a serious reply," Castiel said, smiling.

"Well, thanks, my love is unrequited." He let his head fall back down onto his pillow.

Castiel suddenly went silent, his smile falling. He whispered after a few moments, "...I want to hold hands when we're eighty and say that we made it."

Dean shook his head. "We can't do that. Sam'll kill me when I'm fifty, we already talked about it. That's when he'll officially get sick of me and not know what else to do besides kill me."

He laughed. "I'll help him hide the body."

"Excuse me? Now I'm 'the' body? I am the best body in the world! You should worship me--"

Castiel rolled over, putting his hand on Dean's cheek as he pressed a kiss to his lips. After a few seconds, he rolled back onto his back, saying, "There. You've been worshipped."

~~~***~~~

_Every little feeling I got when he kissed me--the way my stomach almost painfully churned, wanting more, the way the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on-end, as if I had been electrocuted, the way the air hitched in my throat._

**September 4, 1927**

"My bouncing baby brother, my--"

Sam put his hand up, saying, "Whatever you're going to say, do not say it."

"You know you love me," Dean said, cockily, sliding into his seat across from Sam. The humidity oozed in the air around them, the small sliver of a chill not unmasked.

Sam rolled his eyes in reply, breaking the brownie sitting in front of him in half and holding half of it out to Dean, who accepted it. He knew it was Castiel's baking, so he went ahead and took a bite.

"This tastes different," he mumbled around the brownie.

"Hm?"

"It tastes different."

"It doesn't contain milk or eggs, and it has whole-wheat flour and raw, unprocessed cane sugar."

"Gross." Despite his claim, he took another bite. Sam laughed, rolling his eyes.

"You want me to go get you something else?"

"Nah, this is fine." He stuffed the rest of the brownie in his mouth, reaching over to the plate, grabbing a crumb in his fingertips, adding that to what was in his mouth. "How' 'adi'on?"

"Better, actually."

He swallowed. "That's good. The miscarriage was hard on both of you."

"What about you?" Sam asked, avoiding the topic.

"Living on the edge, like always," he grinned.

"Don't fall off."

"Oh, never! Unless I stumble. Then I can't help it."

\----

"Shit, _shit!_ " Dean swore, quite loudly, swiveling his head back around. He got a few looks from passersby, a perplexed Sam looking at him.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, glancing back over his shoulder for a few seconds before looking at his brother. "What's wrong?"  
  
Dean couldn't breathe. He needed to look at them, but he had to turn his head away, on the off chance that they could recognize him. He swung his head between Sam and the road, not able to decide what to do, terror scrambling his mind and pushing all reasonable thoughts away.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw them advancing. He tore his gaze away, not able to help the widening of his eyes, fear heavy on his limbs as he darted towards the street, sticking out his hand to hail a buggy or taxi. ( _Taxis are faster._ ) He needed a taxi, sooner rather than later.

"Dean!" Sam said again, urgently, worry heavy in his voice.

R.C.. One of them was called R.C., if he remembered correctly. ( _"Liar," he growled, his arm tightening around Dean's throat. "R.C.'s turning him inside out."_ ) But that didn't matter. He needed to get away. He needed to get Sam away, at least.

A black taxi stopped beside them. Dean pulled open the door and pushed his brother into the car, sliding in after him. He gripped the front passenger seat with tight knuckled, telling the cabbie, "Drive."

~~~***~~~

**October 5, 1927**

"Aw, you seem so upset," Cas mused, putting his palm to Dean's cheek.

Dean pouted, pushing his hand away. He said, in a weak, scratchy voice, "I'm fine!"

"Your voice says otherwise. Did you lose your voice?"

"No!" The louder Dean tried to speak, the quieter his voice came out. His eyebrows drew together as his eyes hardened, glaring at the floor.

Cas laughed, taking Dean's face in his hands again. "I can make you some tea, if you'd like."

He nodded, feeling like a kicked puppy.

Twenty minutes later, Dean was curled up in bed with a mug of honey tea cupped in his hands, Castiel quietly reading his book to him, a blanket tossed over their legs--and Dean couldn't think of any other place he would rather be.

~~~***~~~

_Every morning that I'd wake up entangled with him was somehow like this dream come true, thinking, "We made it another day."_

**November 24, 1927**

Dean ran into Sam's house, grinning. He shouted from the hallway, closing the door, "I've brought offerings, my baby brother!"

Emily poked her head out of the living room, smiling. "Hey, Dean." Since 1925, Emily forgave Dean for the things he never did, or at least wasn't aware of, and the two were now a little more than civil when they saw each other.

"Hi. Where's Sam?"

"Kitchen. He's getting in the way."

Dean laughed, lightly. "Thanks." He brushed past her, walking to the kitchen. Beth looked up at him as he entered, and a smile immediately overtook her face.

"Hello, Dean! We weren't expecting you until a little later. You always run a little late."

Dean shrugged. "Be happy you get more time with me. I'm a busy man, you know."

"Yeah, drinking illegal alcohol and partying," Sam said, a joking tone to his voice.

"Hey, I never said that the way I spend my time is classy." He shoved Sam's shoulder, walking towards Madison as he raised the canvas bag in his hand. "I brought offerings."

She took the bag, peering in. She smiled, reaching into the bag and pulling out the banana-vanilla muffins Castiel had baked the night before. "Did you make these?" She asked, a happy note to her voice, looking up at him with her big eyes.

Sam interjected, saying, "Are you kidding? You know he can only make hockey-pucks."

"Benny made them. He sends his 'happy Thanksgiving' with it." He clapped his hands together. "What can I help with this year?"

"I think Mom and I got it," she replied with a smile. "Sorry. Thanks for the muffins."

"I feel so used. You aren't worthy of the muffins."

"Oh, real--?'

"Dean, what is that?" Beth exclaimed, loudly. Dean turned to look at her, eyes widening at her unexpected outburst. "Is that a wedding ring?"

He looked down at his left hand, seeing the gold glint on his ring finger. He looked back at Beth, turning so his chest was facing her. "Uh, it's--yeah, it's a ring."

"You got married?" Her eyes looked like they were about to jump out of her head.

"No, no, no!" he said, quickly. "It's just a ring. No meaning behind it. A friend gave it to me, it fit on my ring finger."

"The left ring finger is used for engagement and wedding bands," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest, her blouse bunching up at her elbows.

He smiled, sheepishly. "I know. It felt weird on the right, so I changed it around."

"Mom, let it go," Madison said, easily, gliding in front of Dean with the muffins on a plate. "A ring can just be ring. You're so desperate to see Dean married."

"He deserves a nice wife!"

Dean scoffed, a laugh bubbling from his throat. "I deserve a full night of sleep, that's what," he said, running his hand through his hair as he moved to sit down beside Sam, across from Arthur.

"Most people deserve that." Sam said, patting Dean's shoulder for a few seconds.

~~~***~~~

_It was like he made it his life's mission to piss me off...But I loved him. God, I love him._


	5. 1928

_You know how I said earlier that he just pushed me and told me to run?_

**January 24, 1928**

Dean couldn't help the smile on his face as Castiel tried Madison's cherry cobbler. She didn't make cherry very often, usually peach or apple, and this was Cas's first taste test.

"So? It's really good, right Cas?"

He stabbed his fork against the room-temperature pastry, the prongs biting into it. "It'd be better warm."

"Of course it would be."

"It's very good. Props to Madison." He looked up at Dean. "Did you all have a good day?"

He smiled again. The day had been amazing--the only thing wrong was that Cas wasn't there. Sam had insisted on making their meal, and Madison and Dean loudly "critiqued" him from the dining room table until Sam had given up, and Dean instantly jumped up to cook. Benny, Charlie and Bobby had shown up for dinner, none of which were surprised that Dean made most of it. But the one thing Dean didn't make was Madison's cherry cobbler, which she made for Dean on his birthday every few years. "Yes, we all had fun. It was nice, not doing anything mad for once. We just stayed at Sam's, ate dinner--it was all very mundane."

Cas smiled softly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. You deserve a good day."

"Well, it's gotten even better now that I'm here with you."

~~~***~~~

_He recently shoved me in the street and told me to run as fast as I could. That I couldn't look back, that I had to go. I saw them advancing. It was like time stopped and all I could see was the blue of his eyes, the angry red flush on his skin, his shoulders raising and falling quickly. He pushed me in the middle of my chest again and begged me to run and shoved again._

**February 23, 1928**

It was completely silent, the air still, before Castiel whispered, "It's my birthday," into the cold, dark room.

Dean turned his head to look at him. He couldn't help the smile that came to his face; he had wanted to know Castiel's birthday for years. "Then let's go celebrate."

He chuckled. "Every birthday, Gabriel would wake me up at 2:47 in the morning, because that was the time that I was born. He'd tell me, every year, that that day was not a day I had to live up to expectations. He would take me out to get ice cream once the shop was open, and we'd just sit outside and talk and it was something that we did. Just me and him."

"He sounds like a good brother."

"He was the best older brother I could ever ask for. And Alfie was the best younger brother."

Dean said, after a few moments, "Take the day off today. We can go do whatever you want."

"All I want is to just have you with me."

~~~***~~~

_Sam, I thought he was behind me. I thought he was with me, I thought he was close, I thought...God, it was all just a thought. But when I turned around from behind a building, he was being arrested. He was being shoved and prodded and stared at like he was a fucking freak of nature._

**June 14, 1928**

Lazy kisses were the ones Dean lived for. He loved taking it slow, basking in the feel of Castiel's mouth against his, the build-up absolutely agonizing but would be everything that was wanted.

The heat was as thick as fresh honey, sweat was sticky and shined on their temples, but all Dean could think about was having Cas against him, having Cas's hands on him, and he basked in that simple bliss. Cas's breaths were hot against Dean's collar, heat spread through his body and pooled in his stomach, but he reveled in it.

~~~***~~~

_I ruined his life, Sammy. I ruined his life and he didn't care. He didn't care. I don't know how, but he didn't. I miss him. I miss him so much--that doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling. For four years, I could count on him. He was there for me and I was there for him. Then all of a sudden he's gone, fucking arrested, and I don't know what to do. His pillow still smells like him. His jacket is still hanging across the back of a dining room chair. His reading glasses are still sitting on the table._

**August 11, 1928**

Dean always believed that the Devil didn't look like most thought; horns and red-hot pitchfork, bat-like wings, or anything like that. He always thought that he looked like everything you ever wanted. Anything you'd sin for, anything you'd throw away your life and salvation for. He came dressed up in what would make you come to him, and not want to look back.

Castiel was his Devil in disguise. He was everything Dean would sin for--and, if he were being technical, he was the sin. And Dean didn't care. He'd join Lucifer in the ice in the ninth circle if that meant he was able to spend his life with Castiel.

And now it was like God's light was shining on him. His sin was being taken away. Dean watched in frozen horror behind the brick building, his fingers cutting into the rough corner so hard that he felt sharp stings as his skin cut open. He knew he was too far away to do anything. He knew Castiel wouldn't want him to do anything. He wanted--he needed to do something, but his feet stayed rooted on the dark, cracked asphalt, his knees locked.

\----

Sam opened the door to a version of Dean that neither he or Madison thought they would ever see--broken down and sobbing into his arm, hands and knees shaking, face flushed a brick red. The sobs were almost like roars, ripping from his throat with a hysteria more intense than Dean thought was possible. He had no idea why he went to Sam--Sam didn't know about Cas, he couldn't know, and here Dean was, a bawling emotional wreck.

Sam's eyes were impossibly wide, from shock, but he was immediately crowding his older brother inside. Dean practically fell against him, taking fistfuls of Sam's shirt as a momentum. His legs were as strong as jelly, not being able to breathe past his sobs.

"Sam? What's--Dean?" Madison exclaimed, lightly, having run out of the back bedroom.

"Help me," Sam said, starting to try to get Dean into the living room.

"Cas," Dean managed to punch out, his voice breaking, before more sobs enveloped him. He couldn't feel anything besides an aching, empty pain in his chest and stomach. Cas was gone. His Cas, who was an undying force in his world, was gone. Cas, who read that stupid book multiple times a year and brought home baked goods because he liked to make Dean smile over the smallest of things. Cas, who would whisper into Dean's ear as he slept, saying how much he loved him. Cas, who never ceased to surprise Dean.

Cas.

Cassie.

Castiel.

"Who's Cas?" Sam asked, trying to be gentle. He didn't know how to approach this.

"C-Cas. He--It's all my fault!"

~~~***~~~

_Sam, I don't know what to do. Everywhere I look, there's parts of him, things that hold memories--his glasses, that I'd take off of him and drag him to bed so he could get to sleep at a decent time. His wallet, which we'd ransack the apartment for on a daily basis. The one photo he had of his family, which he cried over once a year and I'd hug him and kiss him through it, wipe away his tears._

**August 17, 1928**

Everything was wrong.

It all felt so wrong.

Dean shouldn't be the one walking on the street. It should've been Cas--he deserved it more. He deserved to be free, to breathe fresh air, to not have to sorry about anything.

He deserved to be alive.

But, after getting a worried invasion of his apartment from Sam and Madison earlier in the day--the two knew something was majorly wrong, they just had no clue what--Dean decided to go on a walk. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets, his boots laced incorrectly, his slacks and shirt wrinkled.

Dean exclaimed, quickly jumping back, as two men were thrown onto the sidewalk in front of him. There were three men following, two grabbing at them--one grabbed the brunette's collar, the other grabbed the red-head's chin and pulled him into a sitting position. The third looked Dean in the eyes--a feeling of nausea overtook him, his green eyes wide and mouth open. Dean didn't catch the third man's beginning words, but he heard the last few. "--the more the merrier," he hissed.

Dean was frozen, knowing what the man meant, his heart hammering in his chest. Anything he could do at that moment was the wrong choice, and he knew that.

Suddenly, he saw Cas on the sidewalk instead, hand gripping the fist holding his collar. He remembered coming home from Thanksgiving in '25 and Cas's face having been beaten. ( _"Two guys came in, and they tried taunting me first. When I ignored them, they tried pulling me out from behind the counter. They were just laying into me--I-I think I have spit in my hair--and then I was being pushed outside."_ ) He remembered those same two guys chasing him and Cas out of that dance hall less than a few months later, seeing them while he was walking Sam and the crippling, cold fear that took over him in that moment.

Castiel suddenly faded, and he glanced at the man with the fist in his collar. The nod was slight and subtle, but Dean saw it. His eyes were sincere, Dean noticed, before he looked away again. And in that split-second eye contact, Dean immediately gathered that the man knew what he was--that they were the same. Dean could've been on the ground, in the exact same position.

The nod was permission. It was permission for Dean to do what he will--to walk away or to beat him. It was a recognition of who Dean was, and that made fear arch through him.

His next actions were robotic, a blur--he shoved the man holding his collar out of the way, grabbed the front of his shirt again and pulled him up. He threw a hard, angry look on his face to sell the act, but his barely audible words were the exact opposite;

" _I'm so sorry_."

And as he drew his hand back, the man's green eyes were replaced by that heavenly blue that haunted his dreams. A sudden anger exploded in his chest, in his heart, and he punched. He punched with all the anger in him, at the police that took Castiel. He punched with the anger at himself, how idiotic he was, assuming Cas would be behind him.

He barely noticed the blood splattered on his jacket sleeve.

\---

Dean stared down at his hand as he walked towards the coffeehouse. He hadn't been there since the morning of, and he hadn't wanted to until now. His knuckles stung, the blood spattered on them practically burned. Tears built in his eyes, but soon he was at the coffeehouse. Knowing it was usually open Fridays, he tried the door, but the lock caught and it wouldn't open. He sighed, immediately turning around to run home. As he started to quickly walk away, the door opened behind him and Charlie's voice called after him.

"Dean! Come here!"

He immediately turned around, a few tears spilling down his face. He couldn't help it. Charlie guided him inside, closing the door and locking it behind them.

"Dean, I haven't seen you since--"

"Don't say it," he begged, his voice breaking.

His best friend put her arms around him and he hugged her back, leaning into her embrace. His heart was heavy, and his body was full of pure exhaustion.

Someone cleared their throat, and Charlie pulled away, looking towards the counter. Dean followed her example. Two middle-aged men stood there--one was short with a mop of golden hair and iridescent eyes, the other average height and short sandy blond/brown, kind of like Dean's own hair color. The shorter one gave a small, awkward wave.

"Who are you two?" Dean asked, his voice clipped.

"Dean, they're here because their family got a call," Charlie said, quickly. "A call that a member of their family was arrested."

His eyes widened, and he remembered the photo Cas had in that small notebook. He looked at the men. "Gabriel and Sammandriel?"

They both nodded, the taller of the two saying, "I prefer Alfie. It's easier to say."

"Cassie was our brother," Gabriel said, solemnly, "and we had no choice in the matter when Mother and Father disowned him. Alfie and I walked out soon after, but we weren't able to find him. Because of that, we stuck together. We have an apartment a few towns over. We were connected to a call less than a week ago, and the man on the other end asked us our names, and once we told him, he said that our parents hung up on him. He told us about our brother, Castiel Novak, had been arrested--apparently for homosexuality?"

Dean nodded, staying silent.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Alfie asked, his voice light and pleading. "We weren't told anything besides that we weren't allowed to see him, that he was going to be taken somewhere to-to convert him, and that he gave us his condolences for Castiel's life."

Dean shook his head, the corner of his mouth jerking. He bit his lip, shocking the muscles so they would go back to normal. "I--" He broke off as Charlie put her arm around him again.

"Do you know anything?" Gabriel asked.

"I was with him," he said, his voice hoarse and catching in his throat. He blinked, fighting back tears.

"You--?"

"I don't know what happened, I--I...It all happened so fast. I don't know if those two guys from years ago finally made a watch for him, or if we were standing a little too close or-or what, but all of a sudden he was shoving me and begging me to run. When I saw the police coming towards us, I did. I pushed past all the people. I thought he was with me, I promise I did. When I looked back, he was being detained."

"Dean--right?" Alfie asked. He went on once Dean nodded. "It's not your fault. You have to know that--"

"You weren't there," he hissed, a growl to his voice.

"Dean," Gabriel said, his voice hard as a rock. "It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Cas saw them--he saved you because he wanted to."

"That sounds like my fault."

"He chose to!" he shouted. His lip twitched and he forced a hard sigh. "Did--Were you and Cas together?"

Dean nodded, staying silent.

"They were together for four years," Charlie said, lightly.

"That's amazing, Dean. Four years is better than most get," Alfie said, softly. "What happened was horrible, we know, but you can't blame yourself for the rest of your life. Eventually, no matter how much you don't want to, you're going to have to move on--"

"Move on?" Dean snapped.

Charlie started, "Dean--"

He scoffed. "You want me to move on?"

"You know it's better for your health."

"Like you care about my health," he snapped, leaning in close to Alfie's face, venom heavy in his voice. He shouldered past Charlie, starting towards the door.

"Dean, I was wondering--"

He spun around, green eyes flaring with a fire that they've only held once before--when his mother died because of John. "What?"

Gabriel took a step back. "His favorite book. It was something I gave to him years ago."

Dean thought of the book sitting on his table. "Wh-what was it?" he asked, his voice slurred and monotone. He just wanted to go home.

"'The Woman In White.' It should be by Wilkie Collins."

Dean's breath caught. He started to shake his head, but then he sighed, raking a hand through his hair as tears came to his eyes. It was a simple thing, he knew. He knew if this were a completely different situation and Sam wanted something small of Dean's, that meant something to him, that Cas would give it to Sam. "I--I have it. In my apartment--"

"Is it okay if I have it?" he asked.

"...Yes. Come on." Dean turned again, hearing Gabriel and Alfie run after him. Charlie called a goodbye, which he only raised his hand to, to show that he heard.

On the brisk, quick walk back home, the two brothers following him must've known better than to speak to him. They were silent, the only sounds the three heard being chatter of people passing, the _throom_ of a car driving on the road, and Dean's harsh breathing.

Dean led them up the stairs of the apartment building after unlocking the front glass door. It clicked shut behind them, the latch catching to re-lock. He shook his keys in his palm as he walked, soon finding his door. He unlocked it and pushed it open, making a short gesture for the two brothers to come inside. Alfie closed the door behind them.

"He reread it multiple times a year," Dean said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "I never knew what was so special about it."

"I gave it to him on his fifteenth birthday," Gabriel said, solemnly. "He loved it, and it was one of the only things he'd managed to grab before he was booted."

Dean brushed his fingers over the cover of it, standing behind Cas's chair. He couldn't bring himself to move it from the spot Cas had left it in, beside the glasses he usually used when reading.

"Dean? Are you sure it's okay?"

He nodded, stepping back. "If my brother wanted something of mine that had a meaning, a memory, Cas would give it to him."

Alfie exhaled, the sound coming from his nose small and whistle-y. "Did he have a notebook? He usually kept one at home, I don't know if--"

"Ye-yeah." Dean turned around, walking to the nightstand. He opened the top drawer, pulling out the small notebook that was only slightly bigger than his hand. "He has others in his apartment, a few more in my bookshelf, but this one holds something dear. He never told me what he wrote in them."

"You never looked?" Gabriel asked, incredulously.

Dean shook his head. "I figured that it wasn't mine to read unless Cas wanted me to."

Alfie took the book from Dean's hand. "I gave this to him a few weeks before he left." He flipped the book open to a page near the front, staying silent.

"What?"

"'May nineteenth, nineteen-fourteen. I thankfully got disowned, but I already miss Alfie and Gabe.'"

Gabriel's eyebrows drew together as Dean tilted his head to the side.

Alfie flipped around a little. He smiled. "'June twenty sixth, nineteen-twenty one. Two men took a table outside. Talked for hours. I shouldn't think the one with green eyes is cute.'"

Dean's eyes widened. Mid-1921 was the first time he and Sam had visited the coffeehouse. It had been just recently opened a month or two before, and they wanted to try it that Sunday morning. They made habit of going there every Sunday.

"I think he wrote notes," Alfie said, his voice quiet and soft. "He always told me how even if life was horrible, there was one thing that stuck out about your day. One single thing that hung above the rest. I think that's what he wrote." He flipped around more in the book. "There's a lot of skipping."

"He usually used the notebook of his that was closest to him," Dean said.

"January fifteenth, nineteen-twenty three. Hannah had everyone in the coffeehouse laughing over a small joke...June fourteenth, nineteen twenty four. Dean Winchester.'"

Dean froze.

"'June fifteenth, nineteen twenty four. I ruined it.'" Alfie looked up at Dean, perplexed. "What did he ruin?"

"He had been a real jerk the day after we met," he choked out, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"'July thirtieth, nineteen twenty four. I'm his 'Blue Serge'...'" He flipped a few pages. "'September seventh, nineteen-twenty four. I'm in love with Dean...November twenty seventh, nineteen twenty four. Dean wanted me to go to his brother's with him...December twenty fifth, nineteen twenty four. Sam and Madison's son was born dead.' Who're Sam and Madison?"

"My brother and his wife," Dean said.

Alfie flipped farther back into the book, past the plastic divider. "'August second, nineteen-twenty eight. Dean agreed to go to a farmer's market.'"

"That's where we had been. When he got arrested," he said, his voice unclear.

Gabriel took the book from Alfie's hand, snapping it shut. He walked past Dean, putting it back into the drawer. Alfie protested, but Gabriel glared at him, saying, "You may have given the thing to him, but what's written is all Dean's. Sorry, Alf."

Alfie huffed, walking over to the table and pulling out a chair, sitting down so he straddled the back of it.

"Tell me about yourself, Dean," Gabriel said, his voice bright.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "We're not friends."

"No, but Cassie loved you. I want to know about the guy my brother loved."

He chuckled, humorlessly. "Me and my brother grew up over in Eatonton. Ten years old, Dad turned to alcohol. He killed my mom when I was fourteen. Soon after, I woke Sam up in the middle of the night and we ran. We ended up here in Lawrenceville. A year after settling here, a guy named Benny found me and gave me a job--that I still have. The guy's one of my best friends. Sam and I lived happily, I guess, and he met a girl at the community college and they're married. The year I met Cas, 1924, they got pregnant, but the kid was born dead on Christmas day. But, uh...I met Cas June fourteenth, at a speakeasy. We," he cleared his throat, "we came back here, and I figured out the next day that he owned the coffeehouse Sammy and I went to every Sunday. A month later, he showed up at my door and we were just together. Four years, as you know, until about a week ago."

"Was he..."

"What?" Dean snapped.

"I don't know, happy?" Alfie asked, his voice barely audible.

Dean nodded, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest. "As happy as he could be," he said, forcing a smile.

He nodded. "He was happy _with you?_ "

Dean nodded, completely sure of that. "Yeah. And I was happy with him. He--Guys, you have to understand one thing. For four years, he was a constant. I'd come home to him, he'd come home to me, whether it was my apartment or his. I love him more than I can even fathom, and the way he was taken away from me was just so...unfair. I haven't moved anything of his--that chair, with the jacket, that's his jacket and what we called his chair. He never put his jacket anywhere else but there. He has some clothes in the closet, he left his wallet on the nightstand. He completely forgot it, remembered by the time we had already gotten there. He's gone now, don't think I don't know that, but I can't take it yet."

"And we're not asking you to," Gabriel said, his voice light. A waver was in it, which was the first Dean had heard from him. "He's my brother, you know? You said you have a little brother--Cas is my little brother. I haven't seen him in fifteen years, and not being able to find him crushed my heart and soul. I wish I had known he was just a few towns over, in a stupid coffee shop that I'd actually walked into before." He leaned over a little, his hand over his eyes. A sob ripped from his throat, and Dean almost broke down with him. Alfie reached forward, pulling Gabriel back to him. The older, shorter man fell back onto the floor, leaning against Alfie's leg, trying to gather his composure. "D-Dean, I just want him back," he said, his voice breaking at the end of his sentence. His voice pitched in the way Cas's did when he was upset, going up a few octaves.

_"I just want him back."_

~~~***~~~

_I'm probably never going to give this to you, Sam. I don't know how you would react to me being...sick. Most of me thinks that you wouldn't care, but there's this little voice in the back of my head that screams at me when I'm trying to sleep. It says that you'd report me, and I try not to listen to it cause you love me, you wouldn't do that. But there's those doubts, and I just can't risk it. I've given you hypothetical scenarios over the years, but for all you know, they're hypothetical. Some were. Some were me being serious, but played it off as a hypothetical. You and Mads are happy, you don't need to worry about me. I...I'll be fine._

**August 21, 1928**

_**August 21, 1928** _  
_**Lawrenceville, Georgia** _  
_**Corner of West and Fifth, Apartment #13** _  
_**Dean Winchester** _

_**Dear Cas,** _

Deciding that it may be easier to write to someone else if he wrote to Cas first, Dean let his heart pour from the tip of the pen in the form of ink. He was just going to keep writing, no stopping to think anything through, just write what his heart ( _or rather, hand,_ ) wanted him to.

_**The phrase "I miss you" doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling.** _

_**I long for you with every bone in my body. It's like there's this thing just sitting on my chest and I can't breathe, Cas. I can't breathe. When I can, every breath feels like swallowing a weight, but I soon choke on them and I'm back to square one. Not breathing. Every time I've come home from work, I have to remind myself that you won't be there, curled up in bed with a book or passed out at the table. I have to remind myself that you're probably dead, and you're never going to be there--or with me, your hand in mine--ever again. You're never going to make your fantastic cherry cobbler again. You're never going to reread your favorite book. You're never going to cry over the one single photo of your family. You're never going to be able to do anything again, if you're dead. If you're alive, well...if you're in danger or about to be harmed, I wish you a swift death as soon as possible.** _

_**About half a week ago, I decided to go on a walk. Try to get some fresh air and such. Two men were thrown out onto the street by three others, just tossed out of a store. Soon there were shouts and blood and I just couldn't take it. They told me to "help teach these fags a lesson." I was frozen, Cas, I couldn't do anything--the two being attacked looked so livid but so scared, and suddenly I saw you and me. Any decision I could make in that position would be the wrong one--help beat them, help the two being beaten, or walk away. Those were my options, and every option would be the wrong one in some form. I didn't mean to, but I made eye contact with one of the two on the ground, and somehow he just knew. He gave me a nod, though there was a fist grappling his collar. He gave me permission to walk away or to beat him, because he knew. He just knew.** _

_**His blood burned on my knuckles. I still feel it, like mud if I had been planting flowers in a wet garden. It's caked so far under my fingernails that I can't get it out. They're red crescent moons.** _

_**I then went to the coffeehouse. Two of your brothers were there. Gabriel and Sammandriel. They came back to my apartment with me, Gabriel wanting your favorite book. They talked to me a little, wanting to get to know me since I was someone you loved. Gabriel broke down. Alfie quickly gave me their address, told me that they'd come find me if they moved, grabbed the book, and had to get him out of the apartment.** _

_**I plan to tell Sam about you, eventually. Horrible idea, I know, but he's my brother. Like you've told me over and over again, he's my brother, he loves me, he wouldn't hurt me. Hopefully. I have no idea when I'm actually going to do it, but I have a letter I'm going to give him. I'm about to write it. I...I think the only thing that may keep me sane is writing to you. I know I have to let you go, you're never going to come back. You're never coming back to me and I have to accept that. I just can't do it yet. I can't accept the fact that you're gone. Not yet. You've been right there for four years, and all of a sudden you were snagged away and it was just too fast. But we should've known better. It obviously couldn't last forever. Two men in the 1920s, in love and happy, they obviously need to be taken down a few hundred notches.** _

_**I'll talk to you again, Cas. I love you with everything I have in me. I love you more than sunlight. I'll tell you when the day comes that fairies are somewhat accepted--maybe even legalized. But that's a far-fetched dream.** _

_**Love, Dean** _

Dean sighed heavily, moving the two pages he wrote on to the side, revealing a blank underneath.

_**August 21, 1928** _  
_**Lawrenceville, Georgia** _  
_**Corner of West and Fifth, Apartment #13** _  
_**Dean Winchester** _

Dean tapped the end of the pen against his lower lip, glaring down at the paper in front of him. He wanted to tell someone, anyone, about Cas. He wanted someone, besides Charlie and Benny, to know about how in love with someone he's been for the past four years. He wanted someone to know that whatever article that would show up in the newspaper about the arrest of a homosexual man, along with a mugshot, wasn't just anyone. It was someone special, with a sharp, smart tongue, brilliantly blue eyes, messy hair, a bad temper, and a huge heart. It was Castiel Novak, the man who held Dean's heart in his hands, who willingly gave Dean his own. He wanted someone to know about how much he loved Cas's bed-head when they woke up entangled with each other, his arm a pins-and-needles numb from where it would be pinned underneath Cas. He wanted someone to know how much he liked saying his name--Castiel. Cas. Cassie. The syllables rolled off his tongue with ease, as if they were the first he had ever learned. He wanted someone to know how much he had wanted someone to know about them, over the past four years. He wanted someone to know how he would beg Castiel to come to an outing with him, though they both knew that he couldn't. He wanted someone to know about how much Dean was yearning for him when he wasn't with him, those holidays and his own birthdays that Dean would spend with family, with the people that loved him. But one person who loved him just couldn't be there, and it tore them both apart.

Dean held the flat end of his pen between his front teeth, tapping the pads of his fingers against the rough cast. He took the pen from his mouth, scratching a few words down onto the paper with the fountain tip.

_**Dear Sam,** _

Dean let the side of his hand lay against the rough paper, raising the tip of the pen from it. He stared at the two words, trying to figure out how to start a letter like this. It was a huge thing, and it had to be done right. No word could be wrong or put in the wrong place, there couldn't be one single falter.

His brother was someone that Dean had wanted to tell every day, every second that the two were together--on their Sunday coffee dates, when Dean often came to Sam and Madison's house just to annoy them, whenever they got together for a holiday and had to suffer through an evening with Madison's parents and sister, every time Dean started throwing hypotheticals at him. The words had always been on the tip of Dean's tongue or just in the back of his throat, marinating in his mind, ready to be said once Dean found fit. He was never ready to, though, no matter how desperate he was to tell. It was a touchy subject, and Dean knew that he had to tread delicately over it. It was like walking over a minefield--one wrong move and everything would explode, obliterating every living and nonliving thing in the vicinity.

Dean tried to wrap his mind around everything he's ever wanted to say to Sam about it. He always wanted to tell Sam about something funny Cas had said the night before, or even just how adorable Dean found it when he woke Cas up from a deep slumber, and the other man would be so confused about why he was woken up and he'd just hold onto Dean with a weak hug and Dean wouldn't have the heart to pull away, so he'd just sit on the floor with Cas's arms around his neck and run his fingers lightly over his shoulder or through his messy hair, pressing soft kisses to his cheek and forehead and nose. He wanted to just tell Sam about Cas in general, just how much Dean wanted them to officially meet and talk to each other, with Sam knowing that the person he was talking to wasn't just the owner of the coffeehouse they went to every Sunday, but someone whom Dean loved more than he loved himself. He just wanted Sam to know who Cas was.

With that, he put the tip of the pen back on the paper, letting the ink loop from the thin tip as he dragged it across the page.

_**For years, there's been something I haven't told you. Something I had been repeatedly told to tell you, but had always never done it, though I had several** _

He made a sound of anger, shoving the paper off the stack. It slowly swayed to the floor, the paper landing as gracefully as a feather.

_**Dear Bitch,** _

_**I'm homosexual.** _

_**Yeah, I know, big surprise, right?** _

He groaned, loudly, crumbling the paper in his fist and chucking it across the room. It sailed poorly, air catching into the creases, and it fell to the floor with a small crumpling sound.

_**Dear Sam,** _

_**You and Madison. For years, I had wanted what you and Madison have--a mutual respect, love so vibrant it shines in your smiles and in your eyes, and just...love. To be able to live in harmony, without fear of being judged.** _

_**I got that. Part of it.** _

_**He's amazing. One of the best things in my life. His name is Castiel Novak. You know him, just barely. He's the owner of that coffeehouse.** _

_He was._ Dean crumbled that paper, his body feeling numb as well as agitated with some kind of anxiety.

_**Dear Bitch,** _

_**Sam, I wish you could've officially met him. His smile lit up the whole room. If he had just asked for it, he could've gotten anything he wanted. He even got things he didn't ask for...like me. He didn't ask for me.** _

Dean inhaled lightly between the small part of his dry lips, contemplating his next move. That was a good start, but what should come next? Did he want to tell Sam more than he would be comfortable knowing? Should he tell it, but be vague? Of course, Dean wasn't going to be provocative and write about every tiny whine that came from Cas's mouth that night, every single move that the two of them made, but he still wanted Sam to know, for some reason. Dean sighed, leaning his head forward and setting his forehead on the edge of the table, partially on the bottom of the page.

It was supposed to be one night and they would never see each other again. They were going to go their separate ways. But, obviously, none of that ever happened. Raising his head, he scratched more words onto the paper.

**_It was one night. He didn't ask for me to fall in love with him, or for him to fall in love with me, or anything. He didn't ask for me to ruin his life. He_ **

Dean could almost laugh. He and Cas hadn't cared, it seemed. They wanted to be together, they hid from the people they needed to hide from, and that worked for them. Neither of them got evicted or beaten in the street--well, that one happened once or twice-- and neither of them got preached at for ever accidentally standing a little too close.

**_let it happen, though. He didn't care about the consequences of our actions._ **

The one time they did get in trouble, they weren't even caught doing anything. They'd just been walking on the weathered, uneven stones that were stuck to the ground beneath them, looking at the stands around them, smelling the strong, flavorful scents of meat and baked goods that wafted in the air around them.

_**He just pushed me away and told me to run.** _

_**I think you would've liked him. He was selfless, he was kind, he was...he was amazing...And now I'm referring to him in past tense and he's not even dead...fuck. I don't know, he could be dead. I don't know.** _

Dean sat back in his chair, the wood creaking as he put most of his weight back. He continued writing, letting the words just flow out of the end of his pen.

_**I should probably give you some context, huh?** _

_**I met him at a dance hall in June of 1924. About four years ago. The air in the hall was muggy and humid, from the air outside and the body heat inside. Sweat stuck everyone's hair to their skin, especially the ones who were dancing. I was dancing. I was dancing with this girl. Then he came and ran into me.** _

_**That night, we talked at the bar. I took to him almost instantly, sipping at an Old Fashioned without a care in the world, flirting with me in front of a crowd of people, any of whom could report us. He didn't care. And, somehow, because he didn't care, I didn't care. I forgot that it was illegal.** _

Dean inhaled, moving his wrist in a circle. He continued writing the paragraph.

_**I forgot that I could've been reported and arrested. I could've been killed, I could've been taken in for testing...I just forgot about all of that and focused on him. On the way his mouth moved when he tied his cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. On his eyes. On the slight shine of sweat on his throat. What it would've been like to kiss him...I got to figure that one out. He tasted like whiskey and oranges and cherries.** _

_**His name was Castiel. I called him Cas...He hated that, but he eventually stopped caring.** _

Dean sighed, blinking away the tears in his eyes. He let his head fall back, taking the pen away from the paper. Dean missed Castiel more than he had ever missed anything in his life. He felt like the word "miss" just wasn't enough to explain everything he was feeling. He felt angry--he should've grabbed Cas and ran with him, he should've stayed with Cas so they could go down together ( _You go down, I go down farther_ ), he should've just never fallen in love with him. They both knew that it was suicide, that their relationship was a dead-end, but neither of them cared. He felt defeated--he didn't know if Cas was dead or not. Probably. But even then, it didn't settle the prickle along his spine. It was miraculous that they were together for as long as they were--happy and deeply in love for four years, and only two people that weren't themselves knew. He felt empty without Cas--for four years, Cas practically lived in his apartment. When Dean came home from work late, he'd find Cas reading at the table or reading in bed, his glasses perched on his nose, or he'd find him passed out on the bed, holding onto a pillow for dear life. If he was awake, Cas would greet him with smiles, maybe even a kiss if he was in a good mood, and they'd instantly launch into conversation, whether it was Dean talking about his day at work, or Cas showing him something he found interesting in his book, or anything else. Every time Cas came back from his work, Dean would give him a kiss and ask him about his day. Sometimes Cas wouldn't answer him, he'd steer the conversation away from himself and ask about Dean.

_**Surprisingly, we were together for four years. We snuck around, being able to check into motels by saying we were cousins or something coming in for a nearby family reunion. Acting like we were best friends going out for a night on the town. I remember seeing him dance for the first time. It was on my birthday, 1925, when you caved and you and Mads took me to that dance hall. He was like a star, swinging this girl around him, twirling her, fucking picking her up and throwing her around, practically spinning her like a top. No hesitation in his steps or movements, just letting the music flow through him. He started swing before swing was even a thing, Sammy, a lot of people did. I did, too. Every time he spun, when the girl's back was to him, he'd make eye contact with me all the way across the room just for a split second, over and over again. But it was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I was in so deep that even a small look for barely two seconds made my heart race.** _

_**I swear, it all was like a dream. Every sleepy Sunday morning when everyone in my building would be at church. Every strawberry that he'd put in his coffee--weird, right? But he loved it, said that the taste of strawberry mixed into the milk and the rough taste of the coffee grounds, made it taste like some kind of strawberry and cream concoction. Every time he made me so angry my blood boiled and smoke came out of my ears. Every time he'd feed me cherries just for the sake of getting me to eat some kind of fruit that wasn't macerated or baked in a pie or cobbler. Every little feeling I got when he kissed me--the way my stomach almost painfully churned, wanting more, the way the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on-end, as if I had been electrocuted, the way the air hitched in my throat. Every morning that I'd wake up entangled with him was somehow like this dream come true, thinking, "We made it another day."** _

Dean read over that last sentence, surprised by it. _Every morning that I'd wake up entangled with him was somehow like this dream come true, thinking, "We made it another day._ " He set his elbows on the table, putting his free hand loosely over his mouth, the heel of his hand under his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe. His throat felt tight and scratchy, his eyes were cloudy with heavy tears. But he sniffled, raised his hand and wiped the tears away, cleared his throat, and powered through, trying to bring it to a close before he broke down.

**_It was like he made it his life's mission to piss me off...But I loved him. God, I love him._ **

**_You know how I said earlier that he just pushed me and told me to run?_ **

**_He recently shoved me in the street and told me to run as fast as I could. That I couldn't look back, that I had to go. I saw them advancing. It was like time stopped and all I could see were the blue of his eyes, the angry red flush on his skin, his shoulders raising and falling quickly. He pushed me in the middle of my chest again and begged me to run and shoved again._ **

**_Sam, I thought he was behind me. I thought he was with me, I thought he was close, I thought...God, it was all just a thought. But when I turned around from behind a building, he was being arrested. He was being shoved and prodded and stared at like he was a fucking freak of nature._ **

**_I ruined his life, Sammy. I ruined his life and he didn't care. He didn't care. I don't know how, but he didn't. I miss him. I miss him so much--that doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling. For four years, I could count on him. He was there for me and I was there for him. Then all of a sudden he's gone, fucking arrested, and I don't know what to do._ **

A strangled sound came from his throat. His hand tightened on the pen and he could swear he heard a crack in the casing. The tears burned his eyes and overflowed, sliding down his cheeks and tracing down his neck. His breaths turned erratic, gasping rapidly to try to get a smidge of oxygen in his lungs. He felt a harsh fever on the skin over his throat and all over his face, burning to the touch. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe past the tears. He tried to relax his throat, but as he was almost to succeed in his task, another sob ripped from him, his upper body bucking forward.

**_His pillow still smells like him. His jacket is still hanging across the back of a dining room chair. His reading glasses are still sitting on the table._ **

Dean looked up with his tearful eyes and his tear-stained cheeks, looking at the chair just a few feet away from him. The black jacket lay still, completely oblivious to the fact that it's owner wasn't coming back. The glasses sat in front of the chair, it's other half gone--the book was now a few towns over, with Gabriel Novak, the one who bought it and gave it as a gift.

_**Sam, I don't know what to do. Everywhere I look, there's parts of him, things that hold memories--his glasses, that I'd take off of him and drag him to bed so he could get to sleep at a decent time. His wallet, which we'd ransack the apartment for on a daily basis. The one photo he had of his family, which he cried over once a year and I'd hug him and kiss him through it, wipe away his tears.** _

_**I'm probably never going to give this to you, Sam. I don't know how you would react to me being...sick. Most of me thinks that you wouldn't care, but there's this little voice in the back of my head that screams at me when I'm trying to sleep. It says that you'd report me, and I try not to listen to it cause you love me, you wouldn't do that. But there's those doubts, and I just can't risk it. I've given you hypothetical scenarios over the years, but for all you know, they're hypothetical. Some were. Some were me being serious, but played it off as a hypothetical. You and Mads are happy, you don't need to worry about me. I...I'll be fine.** _

Dean took a deep, shaky breath before slowly writing two more words.

**_Sincerely,_ **  
**_Jerk_ **

_Sincerely,_  
_Jerk_


	6. 1948 - EPILOGUE

**August 11, 1948**

_Dean's hand shook, his breaths fast and sharp, as he listened to the dial tone of the operator  trying to connect his number to another._

_"Dean?"_

_"I can't remember his voice."_

_There was silence for a few seconds. "Dean, breathe--"_

_"No, Charlie, everything's just fading! I can't remember the exact color of his eyes, I can't remember exactly how his voice sounds--I can't even remember his face." The last sentence came out in an ashamed whisper.  Dean always thought he would never forget him. Never forget any part of him. But here he was, forgetting these simple but life-altering things, things that he's fought to remember, holding on like his entire life is in the balance._

_"Dean, you know why it's happening. You can't help it."_

_"I know. It-it's been so long. Too long." Dean knew that he couldn't consciously remember these things. Subconsciously, maybe, but even then, he wanted to remember it. He desperately wanted it. He always wanted to remember the feel of Castiel laying beside him, the heat emanating from him. He always wanted to remember the glint in his eyes when he grinned because he made Dean blush, the way his voice went up a few octaves when he was upset, the way he trusted Dean with everything--his body, his mind, his soul. He wanted to remember studying his face in the middle of the night, when the moonlight was outlining his features--splashed over his skin like paint, glinting on his hair and eyelashes--but also when the sun was washed over him, turning his skin a tan color, shining and sparkling in his eyes. He wanted to remember the way it felt when they kissed, the sparks of electricity that went through his whole body, that raised the hair on the nape of his neck and on his arms. He wanted to remember how he absolutely needed him, more than he'd ever needed anything before._

_But time affected his memories, changed them so they weren't right anymore--Cas's face wasn't right, his voice wasn't right, his eyes weren't right--there were many more blues, this doesn't have enough blue--the ghosts of his touch weren't right, nothing was right anymore. And though Dean couldn't help it, the guilt weighed heavily on him. Weights clamped to his finger nails, ripping them out of the nailbeds as they hung and swung. Pounds and pounds of sand on his back, making him fall and flatten. Stone in his mind, cracking it's way in._

Dean couldn't help but glare at the space in front of him as he tried to keep his breathing steady. His hands curled into fists on the porcelain sink, his knuckles tensing and turning white. He stared himself in the eyes in the mirror in front of him, as if challenging himself.

_"Sam, I..." Dean's voice trailed off as he twisted the golden ring on his left ring finger, nervously. Sam's eyes followed Dean's gaze, and Dean managed to say, so quietly Sam almost couldn't hear him, "I don't want to lose it."_

_Sam nodded, staying silent._

_Dean made a slight sound under his breath as he twisted the ring off his finger. "Sammy, please don't lose it. Take care of it," he said, desperately. "Please keep it safe."_

_Sam nodded, closing his hand over Dean's, the ring against his palm. "I promise you, this is going to be my most prized possession."_

He saw Cas, being manhandled and stared at like a freak of nature. He saw piles of dead bodies, stacked up and thrown in deep trenches, thin and worn and sick and sad. He saw newspaper articles about homosexual men being arrested, some beaten bloody--or even killed. He saw Sam's face when Dean showed up on his doorstep twenty years ago, sobbing, but refusing to tell him what was wrong, only being able to choke out the name "Cas" and "it's all my fault". He saw Sam and Madison's reaction to him being drafted, their excitement when he came back at the end of the war, the two of them and their three daughters welcoming him back with open arms and wide smiles. He and Sam wrote letters back and forth while he was in Europe; Sam would tell him how the girls were doing, what's been going on, and Dean would tell a few stories about some of the other guys in his division, acting like he was okay. He saw every time he narrowly avoided outing himself as a cocksucker to his division members, them throwing questions at him about if he had a girl at home. He saw the prisoners at Buchenwald that he had briefly spoken to, when his division went in as a relief. One of the prisoners who hadn't had disease was rambling, and Dean sat to listen, the man having spoken English. He wasn't Jewish, he said. Dean asked why he was brought to the camp. He said he was homosexual, and Dean quietly confided in him, to calm him down as he got worked up. A hand on his shoulder, a soft, "Hey, hey, hey...I'm just like you," and the man's thin shoulders seemed to deflate and his body relaxed, collapsing into Dean's chest and sobbing. Throughout all the letters and everything, he never told Sam about the old folded and creased photo he had in his helmet. It wasn't his. It was Cas's--it was of Cas and his family, but it was the only photo Dean had of him.

\----

_"You got a girl back home, pal?" Ash asked him, lighting the end of the cigarette that was propped on his dry lips._

_"No, not for years," he said, blandly, checking his gear and making sure he had everything with him. He didn't want to take anything to his company leader if he absolutely didn't have to._

_"Why'd she go?" Garth asked, his voice light and disgustingly-happy. He was seated beside Benny on the large roots of a tree, while Dean leaned against one just a few feet from them and others mills around, getting themselves situated for a night in the woods._

_Dean shook his head, laying his gun at his feet. "Right place, wrong time." Benny pursed his lips at the truth that was conceived by a lie, not looking up at Dean from his container of cigarettes._

_"How long has it been?" Crowley asked._

_"Since...she--?"_

_"No, since you've gotten laid, my friend. A man needs a real release, you know."_

_Dean scoffed. "Not interested in mindless sex, boys."_

_"You mean to say that all those nights we've actually stayed at villages and have gone dancing, you haven't picked up a girl?"_

_"A girl?" he asked, wrinkling his nose._

_"A choice bit of calico? Foxy lady? A dame?"_

_"No, I haven't picked up a dame. Probably has STDs up the wazoo."_

_Benny snorted, almost eating his cigarette. He pulled it from his mouth, letting out a wheezy laugh._

_"It's true! Who knows how many men they've spent the night with--I don't want to be another addition to the list of charming soldiers who won their way between her legs!"_

_Crowley laughed. "Not even a nurse from a station?"_

_Dean shook his head. "They, like us, have a job to do."_

"Dean, what are you doing here?" Sam asked when he answered the door, his voice flat from exhaustion. Dean heard a shout from one of Sam's girls inside, asking who was at the door.

"I--uh, really need to talk to you, Sammy," he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. He held the twenty-year-old letter tightly in his fist in his pocket, not caring if it wrinkled. It was old and yellowed and he had no idea why he grabbed it.

Sam's eyes immediately flashed with concern. "Yeah, come on," he said, softly, moving to let Dean through. Dean stepped into the house, taking deep breaths. He felt like he couldn't get enough oxygen, like it was being sucked out of his lungs. His chest somehow burned, as did the backs of his eyes. He blinked multiple times to try to get the feeling to go away, but it did nothing but make his moist eyes water.

_**Dear Cas,** _

_**It's still harder than I thought it was going to be. Every day that I see them somehow gets harder. I can't get the image of it out of my head. It's haunting.** _

_**If we'd been born in Germany, we'd probably be one of the countless, unrecognizable bodies stacked in those ditches. Just for being different. Just for loving someone you supposedly shouldn't.** _

_**I keep telling myself that it can't get worse, but then it does. A little boy latched on to me last week, at the liberation of Ebensee, crying for his father. He couldn't have been older than eleven. He only wore a striped shirt that was like a dress on him. His head was shaved, patches of hair grew in unevenly. His eyes stuck out of his skull. He was deadly thin, just like the rest. He didn't speak English and he kept wailing "Vater, vater!" He refused to be taken away from me, when a medic came around, shrieking and holding on to me as if his life depended on it.** _

_**Later, I got a translator to him. I knew what "vater" meant. Father. But he wouldn't say much else. The translator told me later on that he guessed that the boy's father was sent to Bełżec. Specifically, an extermination camp.** _

_**I made sure he was taken care of. The translator told me that he thought I was his father--I guess I look like the man or something. Little guy broke my heart.** _

Sam closed the door behind him as Dean's oldest niece, Allison, ran out of the kitchen, loudly exclaiming, "Uncle Dean!" She jumped on Dean with a tight hug. He caught her, putting his arms tight around her, a smile instantly coming to his face. A laugh bubbled from his throat, but it just sounded sad and broken.

"Hey, Al, can you go back to Mom? Dean and I need to talk."

She nodded. "Yeah, of course." She gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam a quick hug before running back the way she had come in.

"Living room?" Sam asked him.

"I really don't care, Sam."

Sam led Dean into the living room. He motioned for Dean to sit as he sat down in a chair across from the couch. Dean stayed standing, his legs freezing. A shaky breath left Dean's throat--now was the time he'd confide in Sam about something he's kept for more than almost thirty years, and he had no clue if he was ready for it. "Dean? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I..." Dean couldn't make his voice work. "Sam, I..."

"Do you want a drink?" he asked, softly. "We have coffee an--"

A ragged sob escaped Dean's throat, unexpected. He curled in on himself, doubling over as his arms wrapped around his torso, his fingers gripping his jacket tightly. Sam was immediately up from his chair, forcefully leading Dean to sit on the couch. He excused himself, running out of the room.

Dean managed to get ahold of himself by the time Sam came back a few minutes later, holding two mugs of coffee. He set them both down on the coffee table as he sat down beside his brother. "Dean, talk to me."

_Dean jumped down into the long ditch of foxholes that he and his division members had dug, dropping to the ground and scooting back so his back was pressed to the dirt wall. His eyes stung with tears, his throat tight with sobs. His chest ached, his lips twitching. He put a hand to his helmet, his fingertip just over where the photo of Cas and his family was tucked into the tight band. He reminded himself to breathe through his mouth. He tried his best to hold it all back. If his company members saw him like this--_

_"Dean? You look like you were shot," Ash said, coming over and sitting down beside his friend. As the two served and trained together, they grew to be close friends--not as close as he and Benny, of course. Benny was his closest friend, and they had both been surprised to be put in the same division when they were drafted. Ash was more like a close drinking buddy, whereas Benny would be the one to nurse his hangover and tell him all the stupid shit he did. Even then, both had helped him with the same thing on occasion--they'd helped Dean write a letter to Sam when Dean was "too busy" to--he would never admit it to Sammy, but his lieutenant hated how often Dean wrote to his brother, remarked that he was borderline queer for him. Dean almost socked him in the mouth, but Benny held him back, reminding him that he'd be pressed with military charges and sent home._

_Dean cleared his throat. "Not...shot," he said, struggling to keep his voice level._

_"Did you inhale dirt?" Garth asked, dropping down on Dean's other side, leaning his shoulder against the dirt wall._

_Dean started to shake his head before he made himself nod, the lie already in his head. "Yeah, just a...little." He blinked a few times, keeping the tears back._

_"Take your helmet off, Dean-o., Ash said. "We're in for the night."_

_He sighed, raising his arms and pulling his helmet off. He spun it in his fingertips so the open part was facing up and set it in his curled lap._

_"What's that?" Ash asked._

_"What?"_

_"Is that a photo?" Before Dean could answer, Garth snatched the helmet from Dean's lap, pulling the old, worn, and creased photo from the tight inside band._

_"Garth!" Dean protested, his voice breaking from strain. He tried to get the helmet back from his friend, reaching past him, but the skinny man leaned away._

_"Who are they?" he asked. Dean saw him holding the photo between his thumb and pointer, unfolded. He pushed Dean off of him, moving so he was back in a sitting position._

_"No one you need to know," Dean grumbled, trying to get the photo back. Garth pulled it out of reach, stretching his arm out._

_"Tell me."_

_"Garth," Dean said, his voice dropping to a growl._

_He was silent for a second, looking Dean in the eyes. "Who are they?"_

_Dean's chin jerked, his upper lip twitching. "Family of a friend."_

_"Lie."_

_"It's not."_

_"There's more to it, at least. Tell me."_

_" Garth--"_

_"Dean."_

_"Just tell him, Dean, or he won't give it back," Ash said._

_"I don't want to talk about it," Dean said, his voice hard and stone cold._

_"It can't be that bad," he said._

_Ash sighed. "Garth, give it back."_

_"Who are they?"_

_"Family of a friend," he growled._

_"Lie."_

_Dean pushed himself up, grabbing his helmet off the ground. "Keep it, asshole," he said, walking away._

_"Dean, wait--!"_

_He turned around, his voice breaking as he shouted, "Keep it!" The men that they hadn't gotten the attention of before looked at them. "You want to be such a nosey ass about it, keep it, and decide for yourself what it is." He turned around again, stalking off down the trench. He soon climbed out, walking a little bit into the woods. He soon found himself sitting against a tree, the tears from before building in his eyes._

_"I got it back," Ash's voice said. Dean looked up to see him walking with his hand over his lighter. Ash sat down beside Dean on the tree trunks, putting the lighter out. Dean felt him put the folded photo in his hand, curling his fingers over it with Ash's blind instruction. "So, do you want to tell me what it is?"_

_"Family of a friend," he said. The large crack in his raw voice betrayed him._

_"It's more than that. I can tell by the tears in your eyes. Who's the special person in it, man? Is that woman the one you had loved?"_

_Dean scoffed. "There was never a girl," he said, his voice raising in pitch at the end of his statement. He tried to swallow, but it felt like he was trying to swallow a balloon. His jaw jerked, a tear sliding down his cheek. He hastily wiped it away before Ash said anything._

_"So you lied? You were never with anybody?"_

_"Never is a strong word, my friend," he said, laughing a laugh that held no humor._

_"I won't ask questions. Tell me about it, Dean."_

_After a few moments of silence, Dean sighed. "Dance hall, June of 1924. I met someone." He paused. "Had dark hair and the clearest blue eyes I had ever seen. We flirted at the bar, and we met up later in the night. One of the best nights of my life, I tell you. I never told anyone but my best friends about them--not even my brother. But, God, I wanted to tell Sammy about it every second of every day, but I never could. The words were stuck in the back of the throat, and I couldn't find my voice." He paused again. When Ash didn't say anything, just how he promised, he went on. "We were together for four years. I still have no idea what we did wrong--maybe there'd been a watch, maybe we were standing a little too close, I don't know--but they were arrested."_

_"Dean, are you...?" The question died before the end could reach his lips._

_Dean stayed silent, only bringing himself to nod. After realizing Ash probably couldn't see him that well in the dark, he forced a word of confirmation from his lips. He said, his vice cracking, "Ye-eah." He bowed his head, preparing himself for the spew of curses and hate, to be socked in the jaw or something._

_Ash stayed silent for a few seconds before asking, "Did you tell your brother about him, afterward?"_

_Dean shook his head. "Why would I? He wasn't there anymore. He was probably killed or taken in for testing. No reason Sam had to know that his older brother, his role model, is a fucking queer."_

_"I never told you anything that I saw in the war."_

"You don't have to. Is that what this is?"

He shook his head, feeling stupid and weak. He took off his jacket, feeling clammy and nauseous. "N-no...I don't know, Sam!" he exclaimed as he tossed the jacket over the back of the couch.

"Dean, calm down. Breathe."

Dean took another deep, ragged breath. "Tw-wenty years ago, remember when I showed up here? Exactly."

Sam nodded. "It was the first time I ever saw you cry."

"S-something happened."

"I know," he said, softly, as if he knew everything. But Dean knew that Sam knew nothing.

"Over in Europe...Sam, there was some dark, fucked up shit over there. There was nothing that anyone would want to see...I saw people-- some of them were people just like me, just piled up in ditches and dead."

Sam's brow furrowed, confusion spreading over his face. "What are you talking about, Dean? People like you?"

"Homosexual. Sam, I'm...God. I'm a fucking fairy."

Sam was silent, just looking at Dean. After a few minutes of complete silence, Dean couldn't take the weight of his stare anymore. He stood up, starting to pace. He had to keep moving. He wanted something to do, something to take his anxiety out on.

"You can hate me if you want to," he said, starting to ramble. "Hell, the whole world does."

"How long have you known?" he asked, his voice softer than Dean had ever heard it before, and Sam was the most soft-spoken person Dean knew.

"I-I don't know. One day, i-it just hit me, you know? Dad would go on and on to me about how if I ever became a faggot, he'd kick me out on my ass after a good beating. During the time Mom had us do prayers, I'd pray not to be a fag, out of complete fear." He hastily blinked away tears. "It was before the end of high school--I think maybe elementary--"

"Dean, shut up and stop the pacing!" Sam shouted.

Dean immediately froze, his back jerking as straight of a position as it could, his shoulders squaring.

"I don't care if you like men! Why would you think that I would--all I've ever wanted is the best for you, Dean, and if sleeping with a man means you're happy, go ahead."

Dean was silent, just staring at his brother, flabbergasted. He was saying the words that Dean had wanted to hear him say for years, that Dean begged to a god that he didn't even believe in for Sam to think. He felt tears well in his eyes, clouding his vision. Sam turned into a dark smudge. "S-Sam, you have no idea how many nights have gone unslept thinking about your reaction to that," he said, his voice breaking.

"Can you come sit down again?"

Dean nodded, side-stepping the table and dropping down beside his brother on the couch. He immediately put his arms around Sam, digging his chin into his shoulder and hugging him as tight as he could. Sam did the same, taking fistfuls of Dean's shirt. When it was really only a few minutes, it felt like they were embraced for eternity.

"Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?" Sam asked when they pulled away from each other.

"I have something that can tell you everything else. I won't be able to get it all out," he said. He turned around, grappling with the jacket and pulling the old letter out of his pocket. He turned back to Sam, holding the letter out to him.

"Anything I need to know beforehand?" he asked, lightly, taking the letter.

_Dean sat on his bunk in the room he shared with Benny, Garth, and Ash. The paper sat on the nightstand beside him. He tapped the pen against the wood, thinking about what he was going to write._

_"You okay, Dean?" Ash asked._

_He shook his head. He barely listened as he scribbled words down onto the paper._

**_Dear Cas,_ **

**_We're settled in a village right now. Bunked with Benny, Ash, and Garth. They want to take me dancing soon. I think I'll let them. Haven't been dancing since you got taken away...That's a big step, don't you think? Even then, I don't have to dance. I don't think I'm going to, I'll probably just get a drink. An Old Fashioned, for old times sake?_ **

**_Anyways, as always, I get letters from Sammy, even if I can't write back--you know my lieutenant's an ass. The girls are fine, besides Cassie having sun poisoning. Sam said it's not major, she'll be fine._ **

_"Dean, can we go yet?" Garth whined._

_"Go by yourself," he said, plainly, not looking up._

_**Because this will never be sent and you will never get it, I'm cutting it short. Garth's being a whiny bitch. I love you, Cas.** _

_**MSG D. Winchester** _  
_**US 80th Infantry Division** _

_**I think I've gotten into too much of a habit. That's unnerving. Sorry.** _

_**Love, Dean** _

"I wrote that letter twenty years ago. What happened, that I talk about at the end...it happened twenty years ago today. And you didn't...you never really met him, but you did talk to him before."

"Who?"

"Remember the guy who put the strawberry in my coffee?"

"Yeah, when we went to the coffeehouse that Sunday. He made an _awesome_ chocolate cake."

"Yeah. I met him the day before he put the strawberry in my coffee. So, what're you guys eating?" he asked, looking towards the kitchen like he hadn't just told his little brother one of his biggest secrets.

"Steak and potatoes."

"Care if I join? I got nothin' at home."

Sam couldn't help but laugh at his brother. "Yeah. Go get a plate." Dean jumped up and ran into the kitchen, Sam following with the untouched coffee mugs.

"Hey, Dean!" Madison exclaimed when the two brothers entered the kitchen. She was seated at the table with her three daughters. "Do we need an extra chair?"

"Nah, I couldn't possibly sit right now. Too jittery," he said, grabbing a plate and serving himself. His youngest niece, Margot, giggled at him. He ruffled her brown hair as he passed her, smiling. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his shoulders--Sam accepted Dean as he was. Soon, he was going to know about Cas.

Sam knelt down beside his wife. He muttered in her ear, "How much did y'all hear?"

"Snippets."

"Snippets?"

"Tiny snippets."

"Basically everything?"

"Yeah, everything. You know how thin the walls are, baby. Don't worry. He's still more than welcome here, he always will be. We agreed on that a while ago." Madison gave her husband a warm smile before kissing him on the cheek. They both turned to Dean standing between Allison and their middle daughter, Cassie. Sam remembered Dean's reaction when he learned what his brother was planning to name their now-fifteen-year-old daughter. Sam remembered the tears that welled in his eyes, the broken sound of his voice when he said that he had to go, but he'd visit later.

_**Dear Cas,** _

_**I'm home. It's...tense. It feels different, I think. It may just be me, though. Most likely.** _

_**I think the hostility towards people that aren't "perfect"--for light language--is worse. I don't know. It's just...It's like the whole world is holding its breath.** _

_**Sam and Mads and their daughters greeted me at the station when I got back. I wish you could've been there. I saw other men greeting their wives, grabbing their girl around the waist and lifting her up and kissing her like he'd never kiss her again, and in that moment I just missed really you. I mean, I always miss you, but it was more realistic, I think, right then. But, Sam and Mads took me to their house, they made dinner. Allison showed me a project she'd been working on, acting as if I had never been gone. Cassie showed me her new dress that Mads had her wear for me coming home. It's blue. Like your eyes. I told her she looked gorgeous. Margot told me a bunch of random things I missed.** _

_**I went back to my apartment. Sam apparently paid it off while I was gone, instead of putting my things in storage how I asked him to. Little bastard. But, at least I had somewhere to go when I got back, right? A bed to sleep in. I forgot how good a real mattress felt. If only you were here laying beside me...then I'd be one of the happiest men alive.** _

_**Love you, Cas.** _  
_**Dean** _

After the delicious dinner, Dean walked into the living room after helping Madison and Cassie clean up. Allison and Margot were already there, sitting on the floor and playing cards. Dean took his jacket from the back of the couch, shrugging it on.

"You're going to leave already?" Margot whined.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Sammy's got something to read, I should go."

Allison nodded. "Maybe a few more minutes? Please?"

"I can come back over any time, you know."

"I know, but we have you now."

He sighed, walking over to them. He sat down on the floor with them, his legs folded together. "What game are you two playing?"

"Dean!" Madison exclaimed behind them. At hearing her voice, Dean looked over his shoulder at her. "Good, you're still here!"

"You can't get rid of me that easy, sweetheart."

She walked over and held a glass jar down to him. "They're almost bad. I don't know if you'd use them before then?"

Maraschino cherries. Dean smiled at her, the smile sad, as he took the jar. "Yeah...I'll have them."

"Thank you!" she said, and started back to the kitchen.

"What game?" Dean asked again, turning back to his nieces, putting the jar in his lap.

"Uncle Dean, are you really a homosexual?" Margot asked, her eyes wide and her voice innocent.

"Margot!" Allison exclaimed.

Dean sighed. "It's fine. You guys heard?"

They both nodded. Allison said, "It wasn't like you or Dad were really keeping your voices in check."

He nodded. "I'm sorry it put you in an awkward place."

"It's fine!" she exclaimed.

"So you are?" Margot asked.

"Yeah. I always used to ignore it. I ignored the fact that I, a man, liked other men. But twenty four years ago, I just stopped caring."

"Did you meet someone?"

"Yeah."

"How?" Allison asked.

"You know how I promised you I'd take you to your first dance hall when you're eighteen?" ( _An old one from the 20s that smells of years of cigar smoke and spilled alcohol._ )

"Yeah. I'm excited."

"I met him at one that I went to on the weekends, sometimes even during the week. He ran into me when I was dancing with a girl."

"What did you do?" Margot asked.

"He disappeared into the crowd before I could do anything. But I saw him again later in the night. At the bar." He smiled slightly and grabbed the jar. He twisted the top off and held the jar out to Allison. "Take one."

She sighed, carefully pulling a cherry out by its stem. She ate the fruit, holding the stem in her fingers. Dean did the same, quickly chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

"Do you know how to tie it in your mouth?"

She gave him a confused look. "Why would anyone do that?"

"It's fun and guys love it," he said, "for reasons that you're probably too young to know." He finished his sentence sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "Would we get in trouble if Dad knows?"

"Probably not."

She sighed. "Fine. How?"

"Put it vertically on your tongue, half of it hanging off. Then, press your tongue into your teeth, get the curve between your front teeth, positioned so the ends are crossed. Use your tongue to get one end through the loop, and use your teeth to tighten it. Ready?"

She nodded, placing the stem correctly on her tongue. Dean followed her example, folding half of the stem under his tongue and closing his mouth. He went through the steps without thinking anything through, watching Allison. After a minute and Dean having completed the task and put the lid back on the jar, Allison took the knot from her mouth. "Why did we just do that?"

"Because that's what Cas and I did when we first met," he said. "He did it first, not saying he was going to do it. Once he did it, he asked me if I was going to have the cherry in my drink. So I ate the cherry and tied the stem."

"His name was Cas?"

"Castiel Novak. Dark hair--I could never decide if it was black or dark brown--blue eyes that could give you the chills, a temper that could burn a whole forest, and a cherry pie that was so good I could faint."

"Did something happen to him?" Allison asked.

"Something happens to everybody."

"You know what I mean. Was he arrested? Killed? Did you guys break up?"

Dean stayed silent.

"Did I just cross a line?"

"Just ask Sam, once he reads the letter."

"Dean?"

Dean looked over his shoulder and saw Sam leaning against the side of the archway entrance of the living room. He looked at his nieces. "I think my time's up. Bye, girls." He ruffled Allison's hair as he stood, bending down and pressing a kiss to Margot's head, the jar of cherries held tight in his hand. Sam led Dean out of the house, silent, the two of them walking out to Dean's car. As they neared, Dean asked, "You really don't care?"

"I really don't care, Dean," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. His brother was practically built out of disbelief. "I just want you to be happy. That's all I _ever_ wanted for you. Years ago, it was like I could feel you holding your breath. You were just slowly going into unconsciousness and then all of a sudden, boom, we met at that coffeehouse that one day and you were smiling real smiles! I-I just didn't know what was going on, but I didn't pry because you didn't tell me. You always have a good reason for not telling me things."

Dean chuckled. After a few moments he said, "I really wanted you to meet him."

Sam nodded. He waited for Dean to go on, staying silent.

"Every Thanksgiving or Christmas, especially after I learned about his family, he'd have to coax me to come here. I always wanted him to come with me. The fireworks that we went to that year, the day that he was covered in flour, I spent an hour trying to convince him to come with me, just tell you and Mads and Andy that we were friends. You'd believe it. But he told me that he couldn't. He didn't want to lie to you."

Sam nodded again. "You loved him?"

"I do love him."

"...Is...Is he dead now?"

Dean was silent for a few long moments. "I-I have no clue." They were both silent for a few minutes, the only sounds being the chirping of crickets and a slight drone of cicadas.

Finally, Sam said, "Maddie said you looked sad when she gave you the cherries."

He chuckled. "Cherries were important to us," he said, softly. "You'll get it in the letter...I should go. We can talk more once you read it."

Sam nodded in agreement. He pulled his brother in for a hug. "Sunday? That new café we've been meaning to try downtown?"

Dean laughed. They'd given up the Sunday coffee meetings years ago. After Castiel left, Dean didn't want to step near the coffeehouse, but he also didn't want to replace it. Once Sam had kids, he couldn't escape every Sunday and talk to his brother about nothing in particular for a few hours. He just couldn't. As Dean pulled away, he said, "Yeah. Of course. See ya, Sammy." He started into the road, walking around the front of his car to get to the driver's seat.

"I've known since my birthday, 1925."

Dean froze.

"That you were homosexual. You were giving me those hypotheticals."

Dean looked at Sam. "Why didn't you say anything, then?"

"I didn't want to scare you off."

"Why would you knowing scare me off?"

"I didn't want to confront you about it and have you be shaken up by it. Dean, it's a big thing. It's huge that you even had the guts to give me the hypothetical. It's amazing that you trusted me with all you did today."

Dean stayed silent and so did Sam, both of them just standing in silence, the car between them. After a minute, Dean said, "Every holiday that we spent separated, he told me to tell you."

Sam stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

Dean sighed, turning his body and crossing his arms over the hood of the car. "He told me that you were my brother and that you loved me. He told me that you wouldn't hurt me."

"He was right. I never would've hurt you, Dean--I won't hurt you."

He shook his head, laying his forehead on his forearms for a few seconds. "Sam, there--there's--I trust you. I always have. But with this type of thing, there's that stupid fear that everyone you love will turn on you just for who you love. N-not just a fear--fucking terrified."

"I'd never be able to imagine it, Dean."

Dean nodded, sighing heavily. "I'll see you Sunday. See ya, Sammy."

Sam stayed silent, watching his older brother as he got into the car, started the engine, and drove off down the road. Once Dean was down the road, he turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, walking back inside. He closed the door behind him.

Sam had known for years that his brother had been in love--twenty years ago, he'd easily known. It didn't take a Love Doctor to know; practically any stranger could tell. It was in the way he smiled, it was in the way his eyes glowed, it was in the way he carried himself, it was in the way he seemed more watchful, more cautious. It was in the way Dean got those distant looks when they were together, as if he wanted to tell Sam something, but he either didn't know how to or couldn't.

After Sam connected the dots during the days following his birthday in 1925, he had watched Dean with an even closer eye. On their "coffee dates," as Dean liked to call them, Dean would be gazing into the tinted glass panes that let you see inside the coffee shop, and Sam would follow his gaze and see the man behind the counter, smiling and laughing with whatever customer he was dealing with. But then Sam would snap his fingers and Dean would jump, and he'd act like he hadn't been doing anything, which Sam let slide. He had a ring on his hand after another year, either late 1926 or early 1927--a simple golden band that he wore on his right ring finger, even though he wasn't married. Sam--and Madison--didn't question the ring, and he thinks Dean was grateful for that. It became habit of Dean to twist the ring on his finger absently, or when he was thinking or bored, and Sam found the habit almost endearing. The ring meant a lot to his brother, he could tell. Once, after their coffee on a Sunday, they'd been walking back to Sam's house, but were being tailed by two angry-looking men. When Dean saw them, he swore, "Shit, _shit!_ " and something fierce flashed in his eyes, but he quickly flagged down a taxi and shoved Sam into the back seat, quickly following in and instructing the driver to just drive. Sam demanded what the deal was--there was real fear in his brother's eyes, and it made Sam just as scared--but Dean blew it off, turning from where he was looking out the back window of the car. They drove aimlessly for an hour, if Sam recalls correctly, until Dean stopped looking over his shoulder through the back window and told the driver Sam's address.

But none of that compared to what Sam figured out in 1928. After three years of confiding his suspicions to Madison--who undoubtfully agreed, but said that assumptions like this were the best to be kept secret, and the two agreed that it didn't matter if Dean was or not--Dean showed up at their doorstep, sobbing. The married couple had both been shocked, never having seen Dean cry, much less sob like he was dying--Madison previously had a theory that Dean was physically unable to shed tears--and they didn't know how to act on it. They managed to get Dean a few feet into the house before Dean collapsed against Sam, saying, "Cas." Next thing he knew, inhumane sounds were tearing from his brother's throat and he'd pulled Sam to the floor with him, wailing the name and, "it's all my fault!" It was two hours later when Dean got a complete hold of himself, but even then, Sam and Madison could see the pain. He was staring--more like glaring--straight ahead of him, his eyes were rimmed red and the skin around them was puffy and inflamed, the skin on his neck and most of his face a brick, ashen red. He looked emotionless, worn out, tears dried on his cheeks, his bottom lip red from him having been biting it, to try to control his tears. Dean wasn't one for emotion, they all knew it better than anything, and Sam and Madison were both extremely worried. But once Dean had been that way for twenty minutes, he soundlessly stood up and left the house, slamming the door behind him. No goodbye, no nothing, he just walked out.

They didn't hear from Dean for a week. Taking measures into their own hands _(fuck patience, Madison, he's my brother_ ), the two stormed into Dean's apartment. Sam hadn't been in there for years, since Madison gave birth, and he knew immediately that it had changed. The place was clean, practically spotless. He recognized someone else's coat on one of the chairs in the dining room, a book and reading glasses in front of it. There were two pillows on Dean's bed, and there was actual food in the cupboards--from what Sam could see from the door of one hanging open. Sam could immediately tell someone else had been living there. Madison ran over to Dean, who was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, the blanket wadded up into a misshapen ball in his lap. He was hugging it, a blank, void expression on his face. Madison sat on the bed beside him, putting her arms around him, and it took him a few seconds to register that she was there before he leaned into her embrace, his head on her shoulder, a blank look on his face. The two had managed to get Dean to take a walk, and once they talked him into it, they went back home, satisfied. They didn't hear from Dean for two more weeks. And when they did, it was Dean walking into their house with a fake smile on his face--Sam could tell--and asking what they were doing that night.

"Is he okay?" Madison asked her husband as he came into the living room.

"Better than when he arrived," he said, softly, sitting down beside her as he pulled the letter out of his pocket.

"So he is homosexual?" she asked, lightly, just to make sure. When Sam nodded, she sighed. "You got it spot-on, Sam."

"I'm kind of upset that I did," he mumbled, softly, reaching over to the end-table beside him. He opened the drawer, pulling out an envelope-opener as Madison replied.

"Why?"

"Because it means that it's true, and Dean...he's carried that on his back for more than thirty years--most of his life, he said! Dad scared the shit out of him," he fixed the point under the sleeve and ripped the envelope open, "and the world is a fucked up place where colored people are less than white people and you're messed up in the head if you love the same gender." He put it back in the drawer, sliding it shut.

"He was just...born before his time, you could say," Madison said, softly, putting a hand on Sam's forearm.

"How did I not--Why didn't I do anything? I could see how much he was hurting, I just didn't know to what extent, and--!"

"Sam, you know you couldn't have done anything. Right now, the best we can do is love him for who he is, right? Protect him."

He sighed, nodding, and pulled the folded papers out of the envelope. "We named our daughter after the presumably dead love of his life, you know."

Madison's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, how could we do that?"

"I just...I don't know. I didn't even realize what the name 'Cas' was, I thought--I don't know what I thought. It's a nickname, obviously. I just--"

"Don't think too much into it. Just read the letter."

"Uncle Dean said his name was Castiel," Allison said. The married couple turned their heads to see her standing in the open archway, a sad look on her face.

Sam sighed. "It makes sense," he whispered. He unfolded the thick papers. There were five sheets, full of messy, emotion-filled chicken scratch.

"Can I read it, when you're done with it?" she asked, her voice soft.

"If Dean says you can. I know he's practically a second father to you," Sam said. It was true. Though his daughters had two parents, Dean wasn't just an uncle to them, he was like another father. Before and after the war, he'd come over to the house when Sam and/or Madison were at work, take them out for a little bit or play board games with them in the living room. Once, Sam walked into the house hearing a screaming match over whether or not Margot cheated at the game they were all playing. He walked into the living room to see the coffee table moved out of the way, all of them splayed out in the middle of the room, Dean and Cassie wrapped up in the same large blanket with the game between them and Allison and Margot, chips and popcorn and saltwater taffy on the floor around them. Sam just laughed, shaking his head, walking to the back bathroom to take a shower.

Allison nodded before walking out. Sam heard Cassie call for her. He took the chance to look down at the letter, beginning to read. Madison leaned against his arm, and he let her read over his shoulder. She had as much of a right to know as he did.

_August 21, 1928_  
_Lawrenceville, Georgia_  
_Corner of West and Fifth, Apartment #13_  
_Dean Winchester_

_Dear Bitch,_

_Sam, I wish you could've officially met him. His smile lit up the whole room. If he had just asked for it, he could've gotten anything he wanted. He even got things he didn't ask for...like me. He didn't ask for me. It was one night. He didn't ask for me to fall in love with him, or for him to fall in love with me, or anything. He didn't ask for me to ruin his life. He...He let it happen, though. He didn't care about the consequences of our actions. He just pushed me away and told me to run._

_I think you would've liked him. He was selfless, he was kind, he was...he was amazing...And now I'm referring to him in past tense and he's not even dead...fuck. I don't know, he could be dead. I don't know._

_I should probably give you some context, huh?_

_I met him at a dance hall in June of 1924. About four years ago. The air in the hall was muggy and humid, from the air outside and the body heat inside. Sweat stuck everyone's hair to their skin, especially the ones who were dancing. I was dancing. I was dancing with this girl. Then he came and ran into me._

_That night, we talked at the bar. I took to him almost instantly, sipping at an Old Fashioned without a care in the world, flirting with me in front of a crowd of people, any of whom could report us. He didn't care. And, somehow, because he didn't care, I didn't care. I forgot that it was illegal. I forgot that I could've been reported and arrested. I could've been killed, I could've been taken in for testing...I just forgot about all of that and focused on him. On the way his mouth moved when he tied his cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. On his eyes. On the slight shine of sweat on his throat. What it would've been like to kiss him...I got to figure that one out. He tasted like whiskey and oranges and cherries._

_His name was Castiel. I called him Cas...He hated that, but he eventually stopped caring._

_Surprisingly, we were together for four years. We snuck around, being able to check into motels by saying we were cousins or something coming in for a nearby family reunion. Acting like we were best friends going out for a night on the town. I remember seeing him dance for the first time. It was on my birthday, 1925, when you caved and you and Mads took me to that dance hall. He was like a star, swinging this girl around him, twirling her, picking her up and throwing her around, practically spinning her like a top. No hesitation in his steps or movements, just letting the music flow through him. He started swing before swing was even a thing, Sammy, a lot of people did. I did, too. Every time he spun, when the girl's back was to him, he'd make eye contact with me all the way across the room just for a split second, over and over again. But it was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I was in so deep that even a small look for barely two seconds made my heart race._

_I swear, it all was like a dream. Every sleepy Sunday morning when everyone in my building would be at church. Every fucking strawberry that he'd put in his coffee--weird, right? But he loved it, said that the taste of strawberry mixed into the milk and the rough taste of the coffee grounds, made it taste like some kind of strawberry and cream concoction. Every time he made me so angry my blood boiled and smoke came out of my ears. Every time he'd feed me cherries just for the sake of getting me to eat some kind of fruit that wasn't macerated or baked in a pie or cobbler. Every little feeling I got when he kissed me--the way my stomach almost painfully churned, wanting more, the way the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on-end, as if I had been electrocuted, the way the air hitched in my throat. Every morning that I'd wake up entangled with him was somehow like this dream come true, thinking, "We made it another day."_

_It was like he made it his life's mission to piss me off...But I loved him. God, I love him._

_You know how I said earlier that he just pushed me and told me to run?_

_He recently shoved me in the street and told me to run as fast as I could. That I couldn't look back, that I had to go. I saw them advancing. It was like time stopped and all I could see were the blue of his eyes, the angry red flush on his skin, his shoulders raising and falling quickly. He pushed me in the middle of my chest again and begged me to fucking run and shoved again._

_Sam, I thought he was behind me. I thought he was with me, I thought he was close, I thought...God, it was all just a thought. But when I turned around from behind a building, he was being arrested. He was being shoved and prodded and stared at like he was a fucking freak of nature._

_I ruined his life, Sammy. I ruined his life and he didn't care. He didn't care. I don't know how, but he didn't. I miss him. I miss him so much--that doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling. For four years, I could count on him. He was there for me and I was there for him. Then all of a sudden he's gone, fucking arrested, and I don't know what to do. His pillow still smells like him. His jacket is still hanging across the back of a dining room chair. His reading glasses are still sitting on the table. Sam, I don't know what to do. Everywhere I look, there's parts of him, things that hold memories--his glasses, that I'd take off of him and drag him to bed so he could get to sleep at a decent time. His wallet, which we'd ransack the apartment for on a daily basis. The one photo he had of his family, which he cried over once a year and I'd hug him and kiss him through it, wipe away his tears._

_I'm probably never going to give this to you, Sam. I don't know how you would react to me being...sick. Most of me thinks that you wouldn't care, but there's this little voice in the back of my head that screams at me when I'm trying to sleep. It says that you'd report me, and I try not to listen to it cause you love me, you wouldn't do that. But there's those doubts, and I just can't risk it. I've given you hypothetical scenarios over the years, but for all you know, they're hypothetical. Some were. Some were me being serious, but played it off as a hypothetical. You and Mads are happy, you don't need to worry about me. I...I'll be fine._

_Sincerely,_  
_Jerk_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap of Cherries So Sweet!  
> The second book, Love So Bitter, will be coming soon.


End file.
